


Dissonance and Consonance

by 1dmademedoit



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom, One Direction, Zarry - Fandom, zayn malik - Fandom
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sexual Content, Uni AU, im bad at this lol I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-15 03:30:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8040796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1dmademedoit/pseuds/1dmademedoit
Summary: “So it’s like this,” Harry turns towards him. He leans in really close to Zayn, his mouth nearly touching his. “Dissonance. Tension. You’re so close you can almost taste it, you’re longing for it, right?” He raises a brow. He’s doing that thing with his voice, and Zayn’s heart is doing that thing in his chest. “And consonance. Relief. Like if I did this,” And Harry’s mouth is on his.Or an Uni AU where a boy falls in love with the boy of his dreams and the boy of his dreams learns to chase his dreams (the prompt: Zayn is a music major who spends most of his time concentrating on school. Harry is a little more of a free spirit, a music major as well, but a little more of a natural who doesn't work as hard as Zayn does and possibly thinks that Zayn should cut loose a little more.)





	Dissonance and Consonance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluebrightblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebrightblue/gifts).



> Hello! This is the first full fic I've ever written, so I hope you'll enjoy it. Also, I would like to say thank you to Amaris. You listened and encouraged me when I randomly sent you text after text after text of ideas. I owe you!
> 
> This is Dissonance and Consonance.
> 
> Enjoy!

“To me, ugliness, grotesqueness - that's the essence [of life]. That's where you realize; it's not about all the consonance and the harmony. It's all the parts that are wrong that help explain why we're drawn to something - what the mystery is - just as much as the beautiful things.” – Carrie Brownstein

 

 

September

It only takes three months to fall in love, to find the one, to look at a person, with all of their flaws and the things that makes them human, and know that, without a doubt, they are where you’d want to spend the rest of your life. At least that’s how Zayn’s father always puts it. Yet that is where Zayn and his father are different. Yaser is a romantic and Zayn is a skeptic. He’s a skeptic until he isn’t, he believes only with his heart when he sees fit. He is also an overachiever. He took his first steps months sooner than his older sister, earned nearly all A’s the majority of his academic career, and in the three months time his father described, Zayn does it in six weeks. But the thing about Zayn is that he doesn’t find it, whatever it is exactly, in a beautiful someone with wonder in their eyes and love in their heart. His first love, and his only love thus far is about twenty five inches in length, made of polished spruce and maple wood, with four sturdy strings wound tightly that, when played, produce something beautiful.

There was a girl once, whom he thinks he might’ve loved back in grade school. And just months before they broke up, Zayn put a caricaturized version of her face and body in black ink on his brown skin. She is a pretty girl with blonde hair and bright blue eyes and a childish-innocence about her, but it never matched the unrelenting love he had for music, for his violin. Relationships seem hard to Zayn, but this, this is easy. There’s something indescribable about the way his bow glides across the strings, how there was something quite new and exciting about picking up a new score and perfecting it before moving on to the next. Zayn knows he can’t do that with people, because people aren’t meant to be perfected. That's what scares him. He hasn’t found that feeling he gets in the form of a person. He wasn’t sure that he ever would, not yet anyway. 

***

The notes of the chord clash unpleasantly, forcing Zayn into reality and out of the tidal push and pull of the piece on the music stand in front of him. He opens his eyes and lowers his violin and bow, his brows furrowing. It’s wrong, all wrong. He thumbs through the sheet music, finding the place where the harmony his careful fingers and his bow creates is met with error. The mistake is marked, again, and again, and again. Frustrated circles, brackets, and arrows all crowding the set of notes in the measure. Zayn sighs. This is what he isn’t good at. He’s exceptional at just about anything when music is concerned, especially the small, seemingly irrelevant details like when to build into a crescendo or dissolve into a slow, steady decrescendo, but when it comes to repeated mistakes, it’s a burden, a thorn in his side. He’s better than that. It’s the puzzle piece that doesn’t fit, it’s the loose strand in the piece of fabric that if tugged the wrong way it all unravels. And it’s fucking annoying.

Zayn sighs again, rubbing his face with the back of his hand. The florescent lighting in the small practice room does nothing to sooth his oncoming headache. He sets down his bow and balances his violin on his lap as he grabs the pencil that’s secured behind his ear. With the dozens of marks and doodles, he adds another circle as if it’s going to somehow cure his inability to get those specific notes correct. He sits back, stares at the page, counts the beats and the rests in his head, memorizing it. He leans forward to make another note when the door opens behind him.

Almost defensively, Zayn whips around to see who’s intruding on time that’s sacred to him. Nothing irks him more than disruption, but his sometimes sharp tongue falls quiet. There he is. Harry Styles. He’s tall; lean with an abundance of brunette curls cascading down just past his shoulders. His body, or at least the very normal, appropriate parts Zayn has seen is quite literally art, with tattoos that stain the fair skin of his arms in a tasteful disarray. On days when Harry wears billowy, expensive patterned shirts that somehow skip the first couple of buttons, the tattoos on his chest are proudly on display. Today is a billowy shirt day with a bold shade of pink and white polka dots with the sleeves rolled all the way up. The silver cross at the end of his necklace rests comfortably against his exposed chest. He’s impeccable.

Zayn swallows hard. 

“Sorry, didn’t know anyone was in here,” Harry smiles, his cheek dimpling, and Zayn swears the room feels so much smaller.

“S’okay,” Zayn finally says, swinging his bow around awkwardly, knocking over the music stand. His sheet music scatters about the room. He scrambles to gather it. His violin falls to the ground as well, the hollowed insides emitting a sound as it collides with the carpeted ground. Harry rushes to his side, crouching down next to him. Zayn really wishes he hadn’t. He smells good, really fucking good, like something expensive. 

Zayn heart’s pounding annoyingly fast, his fingers shaking as he puts the stand in an upright position. He grabs the papers nearest him, and Harry does the same, neatly stacking the papers and handing them to Zayn. He turns, putting them on the chair as he turns back to see Harry reaching his beloved violin to him. Zayn thinks he might faint.

“I-you didn’t-it,” Zayn clears his throat, “thanks,” He takes it from him and holds it to his chest as if he might die if he doesn’t.

Harry nods, “You’re welcome.” He gets back up and Zayn pretends to busy himself by fumbling with the sheet music. He doesn’t need to look to know Harry’s gone once he hears the door close behind him.

Alone again, Zayn can breathe as he sinks into his seat. He’s flustered, at a loss for words, not so much by the fact that he’s been interrupted, but how he fell apart at the sight of Harry. Again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” He says to himself as he places the music back onto the now upright music stand and runs a hand through his hair.

Oh, Harry Styles. It’s strange, the effect he has on Zayn, an effect that no one has ever had on him, especially another boy. He’s confusing in an effortlessly, dangerously charming way, and though Zayn first encountered him at the start of their freshman year of college when the two of them had only properly met once, Harry left an impression that stuck now, even three years later. He was boyish then, skinnier with far less tattoos and curly, unnaturally quiffed hair that somehow worked. 

But Northwestern University’s campus seems to get smaller with the years. Harry’s face remains a familiar sight, whether it’s across school grounds, in class, or around Evanston, Illinois, in crowded bars or in local venues. Zayn knows that when he’s done here, when he walks across the stage and takes his diploma, he’ll have Harry’s face burned into his memory, even if it is scenes of him in passing. No conversations. No fond reflections. Nothing. Just a pretty boy with an even prettier way about him, who knows nothing of Zayn. 

It’s easier that way. 

But there’s the elephant in the room. The internalized tension that seems to intensify when it comes to Harry. Is Zayn gay? Is he bisexual? Sure, he likes girls, has liked them in the past, but he definitely likes Harry. He like Harry in a way that struck him as odd at first. He likes him in a way that presumably straight boys just don’t like other boys. Then again, it’s just Harry. No other boy before him, no other boy since him. That’s why it’s so confusing, because Zayn doesn’t know where he fits on the spectrum. He’s just a boy who happens to like a boy. 

Moments later, Zayn can hear Louis coming down the hall before he appears. He knows it’s only a matter of time, his voice getting louder the closer he got. And lo and behold, he bursts into the room with Liam, already carrying on a conversation. Zayn knows well enough now that it’s safer to just jump right in and put the pieces together.

The three of them have been roommates for three years now, and they were friends for a year before then. They were all international students, all from the UK, forced into interacting when they were freshmen, which led to a bit of a brotherhood. When Zayn thinks about it, Louis is the embodiment of a child. He is small and loud, though you wouldn’t dare to tell him that to his face, with a personality to fill an entire room. Liam’s the more reasonable, kindhearted one, with premature paternal instincts that keeps them all out of trouble. They are the brothers Zayn never knew he needed.

Louis stops talking long enough to look at Zayn. “What was Styles doing here? We saw him ducking out of here when we were turning the corner,” There’s a teasing edge to his brash, southern English voice, and Zayn’s in no place to defend himself.

Zayn honestly has no one to blame but himself. Liam and Louis aren't friends with Harry. They know Harry just as well as Zayn does, but they notice the way Zayn tenses up whenever he comes around or his name mentioned. Louis brought it up first, and when Zayn started stuttering over a lame excuse, he had no choice but to come clean. Four years later nothing has changed. 

“Didn’t realize someone was in here,” He tries shrugging, playing cool and unbothered, but Zayn isn’t much of an actor.

“Sure, Zed” Lou raises an eyebrow. “You certain there wasn’t any,” He proceeds to move his balled fist up and down near his mouth, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek in sync to his hand.

Zayn opens his mouth, but he closes it. What’s the point? This is Louis’ game, and even if Zayn thinks he’s witty enough to keep up, Louis is always ten feet ahead of him. Typical, protective Liam intercedes. “Alright, Lou, I think he’s had enough hell to last him the rest of the day.” 

“Why are you guys here, anyway?” There’s an edge of annoyance in Zayn’s voice. He doesn’t mean it. He’s just tired, tired of his school boy crush on Harry, tired of Louis’ constant teasing about his school boy crush on Harry, tired of missing those same set of notes. 

Again, Liam steps in. “We were going to grab a bite to eat since there’s nothing in the apartment, and we were passing by, so we wonderin’ if you wanted to come?”

“No,” He answers too quickly. He’s not upset. He just wants to be alone with his music, even if it’s for a moment. 

Liam and Louis looks at each other, and Liam does that thing with his eyes that let’s you know what he’s clearly thinking. This time he’s chastising without saying a single word, and Zayn can’t help but think that Liam’s destined to be father. 

Louis turns back to Zayn, mouth set with an apology, though it’s more for Liam’s appeasement rather than for Zayn.

“I just need to finish up here,” He awkwardly gestures back to the sheet music on the stand. “I’ll get something on the way home.” He offers a small, tightlipped grin to reassure them.

“Suit yourself,” Louis shrugs and turns out the door. 

“See you later then,” Liam ducks out and shuts the door behind him.

Zayn turns back to the music stand and sinks down in his seat. He’s back to square one, alone, with his music, still stuck. He chews absentmindedly on the inside of his jaw, his mind already engaged like no distractions had arisen. 

He taps out the set of notes on the base of the violin, quiet thumps of hollowed sound. He practices the rhythm again and again until it’s flawless. In his head, he can hear his mum laughing about him being a perfectionist. Jokes on her, perfectionism is what got him into Northwestern. 

When he’s sure that he knows it, Zayn picks up his violin and positions it between his chin and shoulder. 

He inhales sharply and then exhales. Without much of a second thought, he presses his bow to the string and plays, starting measures before the one that’s been a pain in the arse.He gets it with the ease, but he’s not quick to celebrate. The first time is mere luck, his first instruct once told him. The second time is chance, the third time is when you know you’ve got it. 

He plays it again and again, each time correct, each time he’s a little more at ease.

-

The first time is mere luck…

There’s something particularly calming about crowded restaurants, or at least he thinks so. Zayn isn’t sure if it’s the muffled chatter of everyone talking all at once or the sounds of utensils and plates clanking together, but something about it is borderline romantic. 

He follows the hostess through the labyrinth of white table cloths to one of the few available seats. Carefully, he presses his violin case close to his side, mindful not to catch the back of someone’s head or knock their drink off of the table. 

Zayn looks around the crowded dining area. In Evanston, there are rarities: actual, aging adults who are brave enough to live in the midst of a college town. More often than not they’re forced to be there, tied down to the town because they’re employed by the school. The rest are familiar faces. Young, college students reeking with ambition. Nothing new. 

His eyes sweep to a familiar pink and white billowy shirt. 

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Once was bad enough, twice would be undoubtedly tragic. 

Zayn only sees the back of Harry, and that’s where is attention stays. He’s leaning in, one arm resting on his lap, the other resting on the table. He’s on a date. 

Zayn looks at the girl, whoever she is. Though he feels an unjust, ping of jealousy, he has no choice but to admit that she’s absolutely breathtaking. He drinks in all the details of her, taking her in, studying her, trying to figure out what made her so special. She’s black, but the highness of her cheekbones and the slant of her eyes suggests that she’s mixed with something, Asian maybe. Everything about her is flawless. Her dark makeup. Her naturally, coily hair that’s in a well constructed bun on the top of her head. Tattoos travel down both of her arms and across her chest. Wide, circle wire frame glasses sit upon her face. She’s wearing a black bralette, and her leather jacket rests stylishly on her shoulders. They look good together. Dangerously, intimidating good. If his sisters were here, they’d worship her.

The closer Zayn and the hostess gets to Harry and his date, the more he realizes how utterly bored the girl looks. And while he hopes and prays that the hostess doesn’t seat him at the table that’s adjacent to Harry’s, he isn’t surprised when that’s exactly where she leads him. Of course, he picks the seat that’s in full view of Harry as he sits violin case on the ground. He can’t help himself. 

“Your server will be you be right with you,” The hostess offers a mandatory smile before leaving. Zayn nods and mumbles something like a thank you, but he’s a beat too late. He dares to look up and their eyes meet. There’s nothing spectacular about it, just nothing more than recognition on Harry’s face as he turns his attention back to the girl in front him. 

Immediately, Zayn feels the need to disappear, so he does the next best thing. He picks up the menu, holding it just high enough to feel safe, but just low enough so that he can steal glances at Harry. It isn’t until Harry starts talking that Zayn notices he’s within earshot of him. His voice is low, raspy, in the way people often think they sound sexy when they have a sore throat, but somehow, it works for him. Everything works for him. The way Harry delivers his words, they’re slow and deliberate.

“I only know how to say one thing in French,” He starts. “Je suis allé au cinéma avec mes amis et ma famille. I’ve been using it for years, and yet, no one has called me out on it yet. It’s pretty damn convincing if I do say so myself,“ Harry says to his date, and while she remains completely unmoved, Zayn can’t help but to laugh to himself. Admittedly, he feels like a bit of a creep. Then again, it’s not as if he went out of his way to sit at this particular table. Maybe it’s for a reason, he shrugs. 

His waitress finally appears. “Hello, my name is Abbie, I’ll be serving you tonight, can I start you off with anything to drink?

“Water is fine,” Zayn notices how she pauses and looks at him. It’s the accent, he knows it. He’s been in America long enough to be used to it. 

“Okay,well are you ready to order?”

Actually, Zayn doesn’t need to look at the menu. He loves this place, so much so, that if he gets a familiar waiter, he’s pretty sure he can get away with saying ‘the usual’. Yet he makes a show of looking at the menu anyway. “Can I get the chicken alfredo pasta?” He asks as if she’s going to tell him no.

Quickly, she jots it down on her little notepad. “Anything else?”

Zayn shakes his head no. “Okay, I’ll have that right out.” She grabs the menu, his shield against the force that is Harry, and she waltzes off. 

He feels vulnerable, stressed even. He fishes for his phone from his pocket and places it on the table. Absentmindedly, he scrolls and scrolls, liking something here, liking something there, retweeting this or that, but he’s not paying much attention. He’s trying his hardest to tune out the sound of Harry’s voice, which is only making him listen harder. 

At least ten minutes go by, and Zayn’s besides himself. He covers his mouth, trying to smother his chuckle. For ten minutes, this is his practice, and it’s not working. He sneaks a peek and Harry’s already looking at him. The girl is digging through her purse. “Are you laughing at me?” Harry mouths to him when she’s not looking.

Zayn stops breathing. He knows. He knows that Zayn’s been practically eavesdropping on them from the moment he sat down at his table, but Zayn didn’t expect for Harry to be so straightforward about it. Then again, he doesn’t seem mad. He’s smiling. Zayn’s taken aback, so he nods almost uncertainly, as if it’s some type of trick question. He even dares to smile a little.

“Here you go,” Zayn looks up at Abbie. “It’s hot so be careful not to touch it,” She sits the plate carefully in front of him. “Let me know if you need anything else.” When she turns away to assist another customer, Zayn quickly looks over at Harry’s table. They’re standing. He’s saying something that Zayn can’t make out, something low enough for only her to hear. She smiles at him, and it’s the most interested she has seemed. Zayn doesn’t touch his food. He sits there and watches them as they head towards the door together. 

Zayn sighs and picks up his fork. He isn’t even sure if he should mention it to Liam and Louis. Liam might actually love it, but it would just mean more ammunition for Louis against Zayn and his fixation with Harry. It’s funny, because each year since freshman year, Zayn gives himself a pep talk. It would be his year to get over Harry, and it always works until Zayn actually sees him somewhere, anywhere. And each and every time, Zayn turns into putty in Harry’s hands without Harry even knowing it. This year , Zayn hadn’t even lasted a week.

“Are we going to do the whole, ‘you must be following me’ bit. It’s a tad cliche,” A low, raspy voice asks.

Zayn head shoots up, eyes wide, noodles hanging out of his mouth and sauce collecting on his stubbled chin. Harry pulls out the chair in front of him, glass of red wine in hand, and takes a seat. Frantically, Zayn grabs his napkin and wipes his face.

“No, I-, it didn’t even cross my mind,” Zayn stammers. 

Harry looks at him for a few seconds too long, and Zayn begins to wonder if there’s something still on his face. “Running into each other twice in a day, I guess it’s time for a proper introduction,” He reaches his hand across the table.Zayn awkwardly sits his fork down on the corner of his plate and shakes Harry’s hand. There is no big moment. There is no spark. There is no ‘we touched and I suddenly knew’. It was just a handshake, plain and simple. “I’m Harry Styles.” Zayn retracts his hand and immediately puts it in his lap.

“I know, we’ve met before. Freshmen year,” from the look on Harry’s face, Zayn can tell that it isn’t ringing a bell. “They had some dumb international student event thing, and like, they grouped us off by our country,” He explains further,and still there’s nothing. “I’m Zayn Malik.” Quickly, he picks up his fork and resumes eating, more carefully this time. It’s the only distraction he has at the moment.

“Zayn,” The way Harry says his name, Zayn honestly thinks he might die, “Weird.”

He swallows a mouth full of pasta. “What?” Zayn furrows his brows, already on the defensive.

“Nothing...just with a face like yours, you’d think I’d remember it,” Harry shrugs like it’s nothing. Zayn, on the other hand, honestly can’t believe this is happening. 

Harry takes a sip of his wine. “So remind me, where are you from?”

Breathe, Zayn, just breathe. “Bradford, you?”

“A Bradford bad boy, I see,” He chuckles a little, “Holmes Chapel.” 

Zayn blushes a little, but he masks it by shoveling more pasta into his mouth. He’s screaming on the inside, and he isn’t sure how much longer he’ll be able to contain it. Per usual, he doesn’t know what to say next, how is he supposed to come back from being called a Bradford bad boy. Is it a joke, is it flirty? He can’t tell, so he falls to his default. When he isn’t sure, it’s always safer to not say anything at all. 

Just as he expects, the silence starts to take a lean towards uncomfortably awkward. He continues to eat his pasta, hoping to have a few more seconds to think of something, anything to keep the conversation going. “So...what’s your major?” It’s lame, he knows, but he’s desperate because this is too good to be true. 

“We’re doing this?” Harry laughs.

“I didn’t know what else to say,” Zayn admits with a defensive chuckle. To his disbelief, he’s actually starting to feel somewhat relaxed. 

“Do I make you nervous, Mr. Malik?” Harry cocks his eyebrow as he takes another sip from his glass.

Yes, very much so. “What, no?” He blatantly lies. 

“I’m a music major,” Harry disregards him. “With a focus in Musicology, and yourself?” 

“Arts in music composition with an emphasis in conducting and ensembles.”

“And what do you want to be when you grow up?” Harry asks teasingly. He leans forward, his elbow resting on the table, his head resting upon his hand. 

“A composer and an orchestra conductor for like, films and stuff.”

“I plan on being on Broadway one day” Harry says, his voice is matter of fact. “Maybe you can write music for a show I’ll be in.”

Zayn nods thoughtfully, trying to put musicology and musical theatre together in his head. “I know,” Harry says as if he read Zayn’s mind. “Musicology is more of a safety net for me.”

Zayn laughs at this, “Business and English are safety net majors, not music. We’re all doomed in music.”

“To each their own,” Harry brings his glass up to his lips. “So, Zayn Malik, how long have you been in the States?”

“I moved here freshmen year for uni,” He answers before eating a bit more of his dish.

“So your family isn’t here, then?” Zayn shakes his head no as he swallows. At the age of 18, Zayn left his mother, his father, his three sisters, and the only home he's ever know, and moved to a completely different continent, alone and lonely. That’s why Liam and Louis mean the entire world to him.

“I can’t even imagine,” Harry looks almost sympathetic.”I’ve been here for six years or so. My mum and step-dad live about 45 minutes away from Evanston. They both work in Chicago.”

“Are you an only child?” Zayn asks. After four years, he’s finally getting to know things about Harry Styles, and his curiosity is getting the best of him.

Harry smiles. “No, I have an older sister named Gemma, she’s in New York, and your nose is bleeding,” He points out.

Instinctively, Zayn touches his nose and looks down at the red smeared on his fingers. “Oh god, I’m so sorry, if you’ll excuse me,” He grabs the napkin his glass of water is sitting on top of. He presses it to his nose as he scoots his chair back. He rushes past tables to the restroom and makes his way to the sink. Cautiously, he lowers the soaked napkin.Of all the times he could get a nosebleed, it’s now. Perfect. He pinches his nose and tilts his head forward rather than back, a little trick his mother taught him, that way it’ll clot faster.He stays in that position for a minute or so before grabbing a handful of napkins and blowing into them. He cleans around his nose, making sure that any traces of blood are gone.

He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His hair is starting to grow longer than he usually keeps it. He runs his fingers through it. He’s starting to warm up to the longer look. A change for once could be nice. Then it sort of hits him. Harry Styles, the guy he’s been obsessing over for years is sitting at his dinner table right now. He catches himself grinning, wide, and he finds that he can’t help it. 

Zayn exits the bathroom, feeling a little more confident than before. His eyes fall to where they’d been sitting to see that the table had been abandoned by both parties. His heart hits the floor, the little smirk he’s wearing on his face falls with it. Of course, he thinks. Some things were just too good to be true. Even though Zayn has only known Harry from a distance, and he has a habit of forgetting how to be himself the rare occasions Harry’s near. It’s far less humiliating than what he’s feeling now. For once, he got his hopes up for something he knows is impossible. 

His appetite gone, Zayn reluctantly approaches the table. He reaches for his chair, but before he sits down, he notices a napkin with a note written on it on his side of the table. He picks it, brows furrowing, as he reads it: “Sorry, I had to leave early. I paid for your dinner, because you were a better date than my actual date. Text me?” There is a number followed by an -H.

-

Zayn pushes through the front door of his apartment, and he's already talking.

“Liam, Louis,” He's nearly out of breath with excitement. Four pairs of eyes turn to him. Liam, Sophia, Louis and Danielle all look up at him from the couch in the living room. There’s something blaring from the TV that Zayn doesn’t recognize. He doesn’t care.

“You alright there, Zayn?” Louis starts. “You look a bit frightened.”

Zayn walks over to the little coffee table in front of them and slams the napkin down, “Read it and weep.” 

Louis stares at Zayn before leaning forward and picking it. He reads it, and then reads it again. 

“Who’s H?” He looks back up at Zayn, clearly not understanding the significance of the napkin he held. 

“Harry,” Zayn says confidentially. It’s been four years. Four years of tiptoeing around Harry, four years of being teased by Louis. Zayn is practically beaming with impatience to see how Louis’ planning to be a pain in his arse about this one. But for the first time ever, he’s finally ahead. 

“Harry...Harry, as in Harry Styles?” Louis asks. 

Zayn nods, biting his bottom lip to suppress his grin. “Bullshit,” Louis says and Zayn’s smile immediately falls. 

“Lemme see that,” Liam takes it out of Louis’ hand.

“I’m glad you finally took the initiative to talk to him,” Danielle chimes in quickly as she nudges Louis disapprovingly. Zayn likes her, and he doesn’t understand how someone like her, someone naturally beautiful and kind can be with Louis. Then again she did bring out the best in him, which makes him wonder if there’s a side to his friend that he’s yet to see. 

“I knew you had it in you, Z!” Sophia, Liam’s on again, off again girlfriend, agrees. They must be on again this week, Zayn makes a mental note that it’s okay to bring up her name now that they’re together again until they’re not. 

It hits him. “Wait, how do they know?” Zayn asks. “Did you guys tell them?”

Louis finally speaks up again, completely ignoring Zayn, “So how’d it happen then, Zayn?”

He sighs. “Long story short, I went to the restaurant. Harry was there on a date, the hostess sat me down at a table near his, I could hear him clearly, I would laugh anytime he said something funny, but I can’t say the same for his date. Once his date ended he came and sat at my table, we talked, I got a nosebleed. I left to go take care of that, when I came back he was gone and I found the note,” Zayn explains fully. 

“No offense, but I still don’t believe it,” Louis shakes his head, even laughs a little. “Call the number.”

“But why?” 

“Call him, and I’ll believe it.”

Zayn sighs again and rolls his eyes as he takes out his phone. He snatches the napkin from Liam and begins to dial the number on it, his nerves starting to settle in. He puts it on speaker, so that they all could hear. With each ring, he feels as if his heart’s on the verge of coming out of his throat. What if Harry has given him a faulty number? Why didn’t he think of this before making a show to prove Louis wrong? What is he supposed to do if it’s not the boy he hopes it is?

“Hello?” Harry’s voice comes from the other end. 

“Harry?” He breathes out a sigh of relief. He’s kind of shocked to hear the sound of his voice on the other end of the line. 

“Yeah?”

“It’s me, Zayn,” He smiles. 

“Ah, the Bradford bad boy, glad you got my note. I was a bit worried you wouldn’t see it. Sorry about having to leave while you were in the bathroom, something came up,” Harry confirms what’s written down on his note. 

“Yeah, it’s no problem. Thanks for paying for my dinner.”

“Anytime, the next time I pay for your dinner hopefully you’ll be at the table, yeah?” 

“Maybe,” He chuckles. Next time. “I’ll text you then?”

“Looking forward to it, bye.”

“Bye,” Zayn hangs up. 

A silence settles over the room. 

Louis’ the first to speak. “Well I’ll be damned,” He smirks and cocks an eyebrow. It’s the closest thing Zayn knows he’ll get to an apology. 

Danielle is suddenly overwhelmed. She claps her hands together enthusiastically and squeals. “Congrats, Zayn!”

“I told you it was only a matter of time!” Liam’s as positive as ever. 

Zayn rubs the back of his neck, suddenly feeling sheepish, but at the back of his mind, he can’t help but wonder...where’s he supposed to go from here. 

***

Weeks go by, and Zayn doesn’t text Harry.

He can’t do it. He tries his hardest, but he can’t. His fingers punches out something awkward and uncomfortably unnatural into the phone each and everytime. And each time he hits the backspace without ever pressing send. 

But that doesn’t mean that Harry never tries. Harry reaches out to him, or at least he did, but Zayn guesses the lack of a responses on his part is enough to make Harry stop. He hopes that Harry doesn’t get the wrong idea, that he’s disinterested, but Zayn doesn’t blame him if he does. He’s just trying to figure out a way to work up the courage. Considering his current track record, despite his history, the courage he’s hoping for will probably never come. 

It’s not as if Zayn doesn’t want to talk to Harry, because he does. He really, really does, but he’s afraid. The accidental dinner they shared weeks prior was perfect, too perfect. He doesn’t want to ruin that by awkward interactions that’ll undoubtedly leave a sour taste in Harry’s mouth, making him regret ever reaching out to Zayn. He’s content with having just that one memory, because it’s more of a chance than he ever thought he’d get. 

He just hopes he’s right.

-

“Here we have Evanston’s most talented violinist, Zayn Malik,” He hears a voice say.

He looks up from his crouching position on the ground. Instantly, he smiles. They aren’t really friends, him and Christine, but she knows his schedule and when he’s going be out playing. She always makes it a part of the campus tours that she gives to stop by with a group of potential Northwestern Wildcats. 

A few of the girls in the group turn to a friend at the sight of Zayn, suddenly giddy, smiling and whispering things that he’s heard all before, but it’s always flattering. He continues to open his case, and he pulls out a sleek, industrial looking, black metal electric violin. 

He straightens himself and plugs the cord into the instrument and into his amp as Christine continues. “He has become a bit of a local celebrity here on campus and in the community”

Zayn laughs at that, “I wouldn’t say that exactly.” He makes sure to avoid the damp, autumn colored leaves and places his looping pedal on the ground in front of him and switches it on. 

“Oh my god, he’s British too,” One of the high school girls says a little too loud.

“All my life,” Zayn indulges her and she immediately flushes, her neck and cheeks turning red. 

“At least once a month, you can find Zayn here near the Arch, playing his violin, sometimes for a crowd,” Christine continues, “Name a song and he’ll play it, but don’t try to pay him. He’ll only turn it down. Unfortunately, if you will be joining us next year, you will not see be seeing Zayn, because he is graduating.” A few groans come from the little audience congregating in front of him.

“So what will you be playing for us today, Zayn?” She asks after giving him a proper introduction. 

“Chandelier by Sia sounds good, yeah?”

“By all means, take it away,” Christine encourages him. 

Zayn positions the violin under his chin and takes a deep breath. His fingers begin to press out the chords, but instead of guiding his bow along the strings, he plucks them with his index finger on his other hand while his thumb rests against the neck. His foot presses down on the looping pedal, and it starts recording once he finds the tempo he likes. He plays the little set of notes two more time before pausing and removing his foot from the pedal, stopping the recording. The chords he played continues to play on without him. There’s a collective awestruck gasp that comes from the high schoolers and their parents crowding around him, and he can’t help but to smirk a little in satisfaction. He continues plucking the strings with a different set of notes, the two beats layering over each other. He finally puts his bow to the strings, playing short, fast chords. And each time he plays something new, he presses down on the looping pedal and releases when he’s done. Each section building on to each other until it starts to sound more like an instrumental track versus random beats thrown together. It doesn’t sound like Chandelier, not yet, but he’s getting there. He puts his bow in his mouth, and slaps the neck of his violin, creating a thumping noise that resembles a makeshift drum. Once that too is looping, he takes his bow back in his hand and plays out more legato phrases where his strokes were far longer and smoother, his bow taking its time against the strings. He then makes his bow hop along the strings, creating a staccato sound. Zayn repeats a few of the beats before halting once again to hear how it all sounds. He looks up at the faces of the people in front of them, all of them eager to see what he’ll do next.

He puts his bow on the strings again and removes his foot from the looping pedal for the last time. He’s ready. The familiar tune comes wordlessly from his busy fingers and his instrument. 

Party girls don’t get hurt  
Can’t feel anything, when will I learn  
I push it down, push it down

The audience erupts into amused cheers, and even though Zayn is stoic in his playing, he is beaming. This is what all of the hard work is for. This is what locking himself in a room for hours on end and maintaining a strict schedule does. He loves seeing people’s amazement, all because he’s doing something that he loves to do. It’s the greatest payback he could ever ask for. 

The song comes to a sweet and simple end, the complexity of the tune dying once Zayn lowers his violin and bow. His foot taps the looping pedal to turn off the sound. The crowd had become larger than Christine’s tour group, and they all cheer, applauding and whistling. He bows and he says thank you repeatedly until they begin to disperse and continue on with their day, until there is one person left standing there with the handle of a picnic basket nestled on their arm. 

“So this is why you couldn’t text me back?” Harry asks. Zayn’s stunned at the sight of him, and while he knows he’s in for an awkward encounter, he can’t help but to think how beautiful Harry looks, even when he’s wearing something as simple as a royal blue t-shirt with brown sunglasses secured on his head like a headband. 

“Wha- no?” Zayn stammers, both of them knowing that he’s lying unconvincingly. 

“So then you’re avoiding me?” Harry doesn’t seem mad, not in the slightest. There’s a smug grin on his face, like he has grown fond of watching Zayn fall apart. 

“I’m not avoiding you,” He tries to say more firmly, more sure. 

Harry tilts his head to the side. “So you haven’t been reading my texts and not responding?” He pokes out his bottom lip. 

And just like that, Zayn caves. “I’m-I’m sorry, I promise I’m not avoiding you, I’m just busy.”

Harry nods, accepting this from Zayn. And Zayn is holding his breath, waiting for the next move. Harry’s still so foreign to him, and he wonders when will this dream end when he’ll wake up a stranger to Harry once again. Zayn has every right to be infatuated with the boy in front of him, but he can’t say the same for Harry.

“Since you’re not avoiding me then,” He holds the basket in his hand a little higher. “Join me for a picnic.”

Zayn opens his mouth and closes it, not quite sure what to make of it. And Harry waits expectantly for his reply. That’s the one thing that Zayn never knew about Harry that he’s starting to kind of like: he’s unpredictable. “I’m kind of,” Zayn holds up his violin.

“Busy?” Harry smiles knowingly at him. 

“Yeah,” Zayn smiles apologetically and rubs the back of his neck with his hand containing his bow. 

“Fine,” Harry places the basket on the ground. “I’ll just set up shop here, and you can join me when you’re done.”

Zayn can’t protest even if he wants to. Harry’s already pulling a blanket out of the wicker basket. He places his violin under his chin once again, trying to pretend that Harry’s not there, but he can’t keep his eye from wandering to him to see what he’s doing. He starts to play something less intense, but still impressive, giving his fingers a break. And Harry proceeds to pull stuff out of the basket as he sits quietly on the blanket. A bottle of red wine and two glasses. A long, brown paper bag that contained a baguette. A wheel of cheese. A camera, the old timey ones that still requires film that needs to manually developed. 

He watches as Harry opens the bottle of wine and pours himself a glass, taking a sip before tearing off a piece of bread and opening the cheese. He looks like he’s off in his own world as he takes the knife and digs into the cheese, spreading it on the piece of baguette. 

It’s enough to make Zayn stop playing. He’s laughing harder than he probably should, but for whatever reason, he can’t help it. Harry’s looking at him, confused at best, considering nothing was said. “That’s what you call a picnic?” Zayn asks. 

“Yeah?” Harry says, baffled. He’s holding the bread inches away from his mouth.

“I was expecting more like sandwiches and what not. I can’t imagine what a home cooked meal might be like at your place.”

“Well if you ever text me back, you might know someday,” Harry laughs and puts the bread in his mouth.

Harry has a way of stealing the words right out of Zayn without even knowing it. He says things so carelessly, and Zayn holds on to each word, each syllable, looking into them, analyzing them to see if there’s a deeper meaning just underneath the surface. In the four years that Zayn’s known of Harry, this is only the second time he’s ever really been with him, one on one, and he’s still trying to learn what it’s like to be known by Harry Styles.

“What do you want me to play?” He tries his best to ignore the feeling that’s stirring inside of him. It’s the school boy crush getting the better of him, he knows it. 

“Whatever you think suits this picnic,” He says after swallowing. 

Zayn thinks about it. It’s a beautiful day in Evanston, Illinois. The last remnants of summer lingers on as autumn begins to take its place. There’s a slight breeze in the air. The leaves are starting to change, and there’s a boy he has dreamed about time and time again sitting there.

He nestles the violin between his chin and shoulder, brings the bow to the strings, and begins to play. He closes his eyes, letting his fingers do all the work. The melody is sweet, romantic even. The strokes of his bow are long and unrushed, each chord heartfelt. He leans into the music, playing more passionately than he’s played in sometime. And just like that, the short tune is over. The people passing by gives him a round of applause, but he only looks down at Harry.

He has stopped catering to the food in front him all together. Harry’s blinking up at him, and Zayn begins to feel uneasy. Has he done something wrong? “That was beautiful.” He finally says and continues to stare. He seems softer. “What was that?”

“It’s The Secret Life of Daydreams from Pride and Prejudice,” Zayn sits, deciding that playing violin can wait. He rests his instrument carefully on the blanket. 

Harry’s still just looking at Zayn, and Zayn can’t quite read his face. “Thank you,” Harry says.

“Anytime,” Zayn nods. ”So why a picnic?” He’s genuinely curious. 

Whatever trance Harry’s in, he snaps out of it. “You see, I was supposed to be meeting up with a friend. It’s a bit of a ritual, but she canceled, and I was on my way back when I saw you performing. How long have you been doing that?”

“Playing violin or playing out by The Arch?”

“Both.”

Zayn shrugs, “I’ve been playing violin since I was about seven or eight years old, and I started playing out here second semester of freshman year.” He explains. Silence lingers, so he moves quickly to fill it. “What kind of cheese is this that?”

“It’s Brie, here try it,” Harry tears off a piece of the baguette. He picks up the knife and slathers a bit of the cheese onto it and hands it to Zayn. All the while, Zayn’s the one who’s staring now. He’s sure the look on his face is alarmingly fond, but for the moment, he doesn’t care. Harry isn’t real. He can’t be, and yet, by some beautiful odds, he is. Harry is what authors can only hope to get right when they put their pen to paper or fingers to a keyboard. He’s something composers work tirelessly on to put notes and chords together until it creates something magnificent. That’s exactly what Harry is, but more. He’s poetry in a person, a walking symphony. And Zayn thinks that who’s ever lucky to have him, past, present, and future, must be the luckiest person in the world.

Harry’s pouring a glass of wine for Zayn when he looks up and catches Zayn’s eye. The threat of a smile dances on his lips, a dimple appearing without much effort. “What? Is there something on my face?”

He shakes his head, “No, your face is fine.”

“Then what is it?” Harry chuckles.

He looks down at the bread and cheese in his hand, smiling because he can’t help it. “It’s nothing.”

“Okay, go on then, try it,” Harry sits the wine glass in front of Zayn. 

Zayn, almost hesitantly, tries the Brie on bread. He’s usually not one for trying things he’s not familiar with, but he’s here with Harry, and Harry’s the most unfamiliar thing he’s ever experienced. Admittedly, he likes it. He’s going in for another bite when he hears a camera flash. 

He looks up to see the old school camera pressed up to Harry’s face, and then there’s another flash. 

“What are you doing?”

“Taking a picture,” Harry says, his voice matter of fact.

“No shit, but why?” Zayn presses. 

Harry shrugs, “I like to take pictures of things that are aesthetically pleasing.”

He does it again, says something so innocently that wrecks Zayn’s brain. Harry goes on, putting another piece of Brie and baguette in his mouth, somehow still managing to be larger than life.

“Is that one of your sisters?” Harry asks abruptly after swallowing, nodding towards his arm. Zayn looks down at the tattoo. He doesn’t regret it like he thought he would. Would he make the same mistake again? No, but that was a moment in his life. Tattoo or not, nothing’s going to change that. 

“No,” He chuckles a bit. “It’s my ex girlfriend, Perrie.”

Harry lets out a low whistle. “She must’ve been really special. I’m guessing it just didn’t work out?”

Zayn shrugs. “We were young, I thought I was in love. It fizzled out right before I moved here, but she was great. She’s going to make someone very happy someday.” And that’s the truth. The two of them were great together. She’s the first person he’s ever misguidedly uttered the words “I love you” to. It was them against the world until it wasn’t.  
Brief silence hovers over the little picnic. “There was this one boy, Johnny I think his name was,” Harry starts reminiscing. “We were kind of just...ya know for a bit. One day, we were having a go, and I noticed that he had gotten my name tattooed on his chest. I was horrified! I couldn’t get my clothes on and out of there fast enough,” He laughs. “Til this day, his number is blocked in my phone.” 

He has Zayn’s full, undivided attention. I’ll be damned. All this time, Zayn had only assumed that Harry was straight. Then again, now that he thinks about it, he has never really seen Harry in any sort of relationship. Regardless, the truth of the matter is, Harry sleeps with boys or he has at least slept with one. Before Zayn can stop himself, he asks, “Are you gay?”

He suddenly has a burning desire to know. Is the Harry Styles gay? It’s a weird coincidence.The playing fields would be so much more even, not that Zayn actually stands a real chance.

“Being pansexual is a thing,” Harry corrects him with a smile. “I like people. I think people are beautiful regardless.”

Honestly, Zayn isn’t surprised. He thinks that it might actually suit Harry, that it makes perfect sense for someone he thinks is so otherworldly.

“What about you? Who do you fancy?” Harry asks innocently.

There it goes again. Does Zayn actually like boys or is it just this boy? It’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? It’s a question that he still doesn’t know the answer to. He opens his mouth and then closes it. He’s not sure what to say. Either way, he feels like whatever comes out of his mouth will be wrong.

“It’s okay,” Harry chimes in and places his hand on top of Zayn’s, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to answer.” 

Zayn looks at him. A breeze makes his curls sway slightly. More importantly, Zayn has never noticed just how pretty Harry’s eyes are. They’re green, a type of green that deserved whatever praise they’ve gotten over the years. Green eyes that are looking back at him.

Right then, Zayn decides the least he can do is try. 

 

October

 

They’re friends. 

Not in the sense that they make plans to see each other regularly, but they talk.They talk nearly everyday, and all day through the text messages they exchange. It’s a blessing and a curse, because on one hand, he’s grateful and it’s more than he could have ever bargained for. On the other hand, Zayn’s feelings are intensifying. He knows Harry now. He knows that he’s funny, and that he’s smart, and that he’s extraordinarily kind. He knows his likes and dislikes, what makes him laugh, what makes him wonder. Zayn also knows he still gets butterflies when he sees Harry. But now when Harry sees him, he smiles and waves, even stopping to talk to Zayn if he gets the chance.

Zayn is better at keeping it together, but there are times even now when Harry harmlessly says something, and it throws Zayn off of his senses. But Harry is still Harry, and Zayn is still Zayn. They’re worlds apart, and from what Zayn has seen, he doesn’t have a place in Harry’s life. But that’s okay. Friends are good. Zayn likes being friends. It’s what he has to tell himself.

-

Zayn eases the auditorium door open. He’s there, but he’s late. He rushes there soon after getting off of the phone with Harry, but it isn’t soon enough. He ducks in, trying even harder to close it quietly, but the hinges forces the door to shut audibly. Cringing, he turns around slowly to see that the attention from the people on stage is all on him. 

“Sorry,” Zayn throws up his hand awkwardly as he makes his way down the aisle. The closer he gets , he sees that they’re all dressed in dated attire. Bright clothes. Shoulder pads. Teased hair. There are four girls wearing nearly identical outfits similar to a schoolgirl uniform, one in red, one in yellow, one in green, and one in blue. The one in yellow is absentmindedly twirling a croquet mallet. Zayn sees Harry, and Harry is already looking at him. 

With a smile on his face, he hops off of the front of the stage and walks up to him. Zayn can’t help but to stare at Harry, trying to make sense of what he’s wearing. It’s so unlike him, but as always, he looks good. He’s draped in a black trench coat, a dark t shirt, dark jeans that weren’t skin tight, and combat boots. His hair is pulled back into a bun. 

“Well, the Bradford badboy knows how to make an entrance,” Harry teases.

“Sorry, I’m late,” Zayn smiles sheepishly. 

With his hands shoved into the pockets of his trench coat, Harry gives a dismissive shrug. “It’s alright. We just finished getting notes from the director.”

Zayn rocks back on his heels, looking around. No one is paying much attention to them. “So...what is this again?”

“Everyone take five,” The director, Zayn assumes, shouts out. 

“Thank you, five!” Everyone, Harry included, shouts in reply. He turns his attention back to Zayn, who’s visibly lost. “We’re putting on Heathers the musical, yours truly is playing Jason Dean, better known as JD, a charming, psychopathic serial killer. Might I add that he's devilishly handsome.”

Zayn chuckles. “Explains the trench coat, you should wear it more often.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” 

Zayn chooses to ignore him. “So, I’m filling in for the pit conductor, right?” 

“Actually, she’s here today, but she won’t be here tomorrow,” Harry explains, “I figured you were already on your way when her plans changed. You can leave if you want, or stay and watch and shadow her a bit.”

“That’s fine, I’ll stay,” It was an easy decision on Zayn’s part. Harry has seen Zayn in his element numerous times, playing violin out by the Arch, but Zayn has never seen Harry do what he does best.

“Besides,” Harry adds, “I didn’t know who else to call, you’re good at music, and I knew you’d be up for a challenge,”

“Thanks,” Zayn says sincerely. “So are you running all the way through the entire show?”

“No, we already did. We’re just going to do specific scenes. Let me introduce you to everyone,”

Zayn follows behind Harry, making their way to various pods of people in the auditorium, some of them dressed in 80s clothes, others are not. When he’s introduced, he’s Zayn Malik, friend, phenomenal musician and substitute conductor. Names begin to blur together, and if he actually ends up temporarily being a part of their crew, he knows that he’s going to have to apologize and ask for names again and probably again. 

Harry finally brings him to the conductor, Morgan. They exchange pleasantries, and she offers him a spare score book to familiarize himself with. 

“Okay, well I’ve got to get back on stage.”

“Break a leg,” Zayn says and Harry gives him an amused look.

He takes the booklet and sits in the audience alone, a row or two behind the director. Close enough to the stage, but just far enough for him to keep an eye on Morgan whenever the starts working her magic. 

“Alright,” The director starts, “We are going to start with Candy Store, the beginning of Fight for Me, and Dead Girl Walking. Hopefully, we’ll get out of here early. Our Heathers, Veronica, and JD, you guys need to stay to take promo pictures. Okay, get into place.”

Zayn digs into his backpack for a pencil to mock conduct with and to use to take notes. The actors on stage scramble into their positions.

“We’re starting at ‘Martha’s had a thing for Ram for like twelve years now’,” the director orders. “Okay, action.”

Zayn’s face is buried into the book, his foot tapping, his pencil waving about as if it’s a conducting baton. He follows along in the music. Bring in the drums, he thinks. Right on cue, there they are. He makes a motion for the sound to stop completely, looking up to see Morgan’s hands in the same position. He smiles a little to himself, diving right back into the music as it picks up again. 

Throughout the song, he looks up, making sure he’s in sync with Morgan, stopping when he needs to make a note before hopping back in. It’s the first time this school year that he has gotten to conduct anything, even if it’s off to the side and temporary, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s just as exhilarating. 

The song comes to an end. Yellow, Green, and Red, Zayn thinks they’re the Heathers, strut off, leaving the girl in blue alone, looking humiliated. She begins to walk away, shuffling her feet along off to the side. Harry or JD is sitting against the wall, flipping through a book. 

“You shouldn’t have bowed down to the Swatch-dogz and Diet-Cokeheads. They’re gonna crush that girl,” Harry says, but Zayn’s taken aback by the change of Harry’s accent from English to passable American. He’s amazing. 

“I’m sorry, what?” She stops and looks at him.

Harry gets up, moving to his feet as he walks away from her. He's still looking down into his book when he speaks, “You’ve clearly got a soul. You just need to work harder to keep it clean. We are all born marked for evil.”

“Okay, don’t quote Baudelaire at me and walk away, excuse me? I didn’t catch your name.” She walks after him defensively, stopping a foot or so behind him when he stops moving.

He glances over his shoulder at her. “I didn’t throw it,” Harry smiles to himself as he begins to walk away again. He flips through his book nonchalantly while Veronica melts at his charm. Zayn laughs a little, because he knows exactly how Veronica feels.

Transfixed by Harry and his character, Zayn completely abandons conducting as he watches the scene unfold. Zayn realizes he’s completely disregarding the music. Hurriedly, he looks down, flipping through the pages to see where they are in the score. It’s slower, way slower this time, consisting of nothing more than a piano, a few horns, and the tap of a cymbal. 

“Why, when you see boys fight does it look so horrible, yet feel so right?” Veronica starts to sing, her smitten eyes trained on Harry’s character. 

“Okay, cut!” The director calls out from a few rows in front of Zayn. The dynamics suddenly changes. The cast instantaneously breaks out of character, a few of them moving around a bit in place, stretching even. “JD and Veronica, move into your places for Dead Girl Walking.” 

The other members of the cast scatter, clearing the stage. Harry says something under his breath to the girl sharing the stage with him and she laughs, hitting him on the arm as she crosses to the (stage left or right??). Harry goes to the center and strips out of his trench coat and tosses it to the side before getting down on the ground. He lays down, his legs crossed with his arms resting behind his head. 

“Action!”

Pencil ready, eyes trained on his score, prepared as the music starts. It’s slow too, but deceivingly so. From what he can, it's only a matter of time before the music evolves to something fast, heart pounding. X measures in, Veronica begins to sing:

“The demon queen of high school has decreed it:  
She says Monday, 8 am, I will be deleted  
They'll hunt me down in study hall,  
Stuff and mount me on the wall;  
Thirty hours to live -  
how shall i spend them?  
I don't have to stay and die like cattle;  
I could change my name and ride up to Seattle  
But I don't own a motorbike -  
Wait...here's an option that I like:  
Spend those thirty hours gettin'... freakay!  
Yeah!”

The music builds and builds as he predicted, the movement of Zayn’s arms going in faster and bigger motions. 

I need it hard,  
I'm a dead girl walking!  
I'm in your yard,  
I'm a dead girl walking!  
Before they punch my clock,  
I'm snappin' off your window lock.  
Got no time to knock”  
I'm a dead girl walking!”

“Veronica, what are you doing in my room?” Harry says in his American accent. Zayn glances up out of habit to see Harry scrambling to his feet while he continues moving about as a conductor would. He forces himself to look back down. 

“Shhhhhhhhhhhhh. Sorry, but I really had to wake you,” She sings. “See, I decided I must ride you til I break you.”

Zayn’s head shots up at that, his conducting lagging a bit as the music continues without him. He looks at Harry, whose character seems pleasantly surprised. 

“Cause Heather says I gots to go;  
You're my last meal on death row.  
Shut your mouth and lose them tighty-whities!  
Come on!”

Veronica pulls open her blue blazer, beckoning him.

Tonight I'm yours,  
I'm a dead girl walking!

Harry cocks an eyebrow, a smrik nearing arrogant crosses his face as he approaches her. He puts his hands on her by the waist, slowly bringing her closer to him. He leans in a little.

Get on all fours,  
Kiss this dead girl walking!

Before Harry’s lips can touch hers, she pushes him down onto his knees. He lands down literally on all fours, looking up at her before sitting up on his knees. His hands move to her thighs, going higher and higher, until they disappear up her skirt. Veronica’s hands are cupping his face as she continues to sing. Zayn’s attention is completely focused on Harry as he stops conducting all together. 

“Let's go, you know the drill;  
I'm hot and pissed and on the pill.  
Bow down to the will of a dead girl walking!”

Veronica gets on her knees in front of Harry, the two of them at eye level. She touches his chest, pleading with him. 

“And you know, you know, you know  
it's 'cause you're beautiful.  
You say you're numb inside,  
But I can't agree.  
So the world's unfair,  
Keep it locked out there...  
In here it's beautiful.”

Veronica desperately yanks off her blazer and tosses it to the side. She looks at Harry as if she's hoping that he catches her drift.

“Let's make this beautiful!”

Harry throws his hands up and nods his head, a dimpling smile making its debut, “That works for me.”

She climbs onto him, their lips colliding. They’re tearing into each other, their mouths moving in sync. Without breaking their passionate kiss, Harry moves smoothly into a sitting position to where Veronica is straddling his lap. She reaches for the bottom of his shirt, tugging it up over his head before yanking at the hair tie in his bun, causing his curly hair to fall to his shoulders. Desperately, their mouths are at it again, and Zayn’s staring with his mouth hanging ajar. 

His heart’s racing excitedly in his chest, he’s sure he's on the verge of trembling. He feels himself go warm as he squirms in his seat. He clears his throat as a diversion, trying to keep it together, but he’s gone. Just from the side, he can see how toned Harry’s shirtless body is, and it’s too much. 

Veronica pushes Harry’s down onto his back and starts kissing down his neck and chest. Zayn sinks all the way down in his seat, because he's sure he's losing his mind, but nothing in the world is going to make him look away from that stage. He has fantasized, has dreamed, about seeing Harry in this position, even if it is as heavily choreographed as the scene in front of him is. It’s a little weird for him now too, now that they're friends, but god they’re hitting all of their marks and they're doing it well. 

She sits up on his lap and belts out a high note. “Full steam ahead, take this dead girl walking,” She sings.

“How'd you find my address?” Harry’s singing now as he sits up too with her still on top of him.

“Let's break the bed! Rock this dead girl walking!” She pumps her fist in the air.

“I think you tore my mattress!” He looks down, checking to see the damage done to his imaginary bed.

“No sleep tonight for you, better chug that Mountain Dew!” She puts her finger under his chin and guides his eyes back to her.

“Okay, okay,” He nods quickly, his cockiness gone as he falls under her spell.

“Get your ass in gear, make this whole town disappear!” 

“Okay, okay!” Harry bites his lip, obviously excited to have her.

“Slap me! Pull my hair, touch me there and there and there but no more talking!” True to the lyrics, Veronica slaps him across the face and Harry pulls her hair. He follows her command, touching her hips, her arse, and then her breasts before ripping her shirt open to reveal her black bra. Something about seeing Harry using such force makes Zayn’s dick twitch. Oh no, god no, he thinks, but his eyes are locked on Harry.

“Love this dead girl!” She belts again and grabs at his back, digging her nails into his skin as she grinds her hips down into him. Her skirt is hiked up a little higher, his jeans,though unbuttoned, are still at his waist. Harry places a hand on her waist and pretends rather convincingly to thrust up into her though the two of them are still clothed on the bottom half. 

Zayn, on the other hand, is feeling a lot. He’s suffocating, he’s drowning. He’s breathless and jealous. Imagining just what it must feel like to be her. He watches as the muscles in Harry’s back move and work together underneath smooth skin, his face masked with fake pleasure as the two of them continue to sing. And Zayn can feel himself growing hard. Fuck.

The song comes to an end with high notes and amazing riffs, signifying their climaxes as they end breathlessly. The audience made up of cast and crew erupts into cheers and applauses. The director yells cut. Harry and the girl playing Veronica just laugh, hugging it out as she removes herself from him and helps him up like it’s nothing.

But fuck he's got to get out of here. .... Quickly, hoping to go unnoticed, he pushes the score into his backpack and ducks into the aisle, slinging his bag across his back as makes his way to the exit in haste.

…

***

Zayn waits for Liam and Louis to meet him. He’s sitting, alone, at table in the student center where students pile in, both sitting and bustling through, in between classes. They’re late per usual, so he’s sitting on his laptop; getting a head start on studying.

His fingers are busy typing away when he feels someone approaching the table. “You’re late,” He says without looking up.

“Didn’t realize you were expecting me,” Harry says.

Zayn’s head shoots up to see Harry smiling at him, Starbucks in his hand. There’s a blonde boy wearing glasses with him, the kind of glasses that were stylish so you couldn’t be entirely sure if they were for practical use or for fashion. It’s his first time seeing Harry since the rehearsal, and it’s not nearly as awkward as Zayn imagined it would be.

“Sorry, I thought you were someone else,” He takes his headphones out completely.

“It’s alright. Saw you and just wanted to say hi,” Harry smiles before turning to the boy by his side. “Zayn, this is my best friend and roommate, Niall. Niall, this is Zayn.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Niall’s accent is thick and heavily Irish. 

“You too,” Zayn offers.

“What are you up to?” Harry rocks back on his heels

“Studying, waiting for my friends.”

“Well we won’t bother you then, but we’re throwing a Halloween party in a week at our house, and I wanted to invite you,” Harry says before taking a sip from his drink.

Zayn’s dumfounded. “Uh-yeah, okay. Just send me the address, yeah? I’ll try to come.”

“Invite your friends, okay?” Harry insists.

It strikes him. This is really happening. “Will do,” Zayn smiles.

They exchange their goodbyes. Zayn buries his focus back into his laptop, typing, but stopping every couple of seconds to watch Harry walk away until he’s completely gone. 

Liam and Louis come eventually. Neither one of them bother to apologize for being late. They just shrug their backpacks off and toss them to the ground before pulling out a chair. “What are smiling for?” Louis asks, and Zayn doesn’t even realize that he is.

He looks up at them. “Boys, we’re going to a party.”

***

The second time is chance…

When Zayn walks into the house, he’s already spinning from the alcohol pumping through his veins from the previous party. He feels good, confident even. At the other party, girls flocked to him, leaning in, batting their eyelashes and smiling, hoping he’d take the bait. He wasn’t interested, isn’t interested, but he’s polite. He engages a little, but he thinks only of Harry, even pretends that he’s practicing for when he sees Harry.  
But now he’s here. At Harry’s house, with Liam, who is single this week, Louis and Danielle. They walk in, Zayn leading them. It’s dark, with decorative lights lining the walls, giving off just enough light. There are people everywhere. On the stairs. Crowded in the foyer. Cramped happily in rooms. All of them are holding red cups or a beer. Music bumps throughout the entire house. He feels it in the soles of his shoes, in his fingertips, in his chest. He feels like he’s floating.  
“Let’s find the booze,” Louis shouts into Zayn’s ear, and he nods his head, agreeing. They maneuver their way through, trying to stay together while peeping into packed rooms until they find the kitchen, hoping to find what they’re looking for.  
It’s the only room that he’s seen so far that’s well lit, but it’s also the room that’s overflowing with alcohol, like he had expected.  
The blonde he met a week ago, Niall, is pouring drinks, passing them out, laughing and being merry. He’s dressed as a Reno 911 cop, the khaki shorts he’s wearing are definitely several sizes too small, and his glasses are gone. His neck and ears are burning red, and it’s a sure sign that he is drunk.  
Zayn walks up to him, and his friends aren’t too far behind. “Zayn!” He shouts excitedly. “‘arry’s been lookin’ for ya,” His accent is heavy and barely understandable, weighed down by god knows how many drinks.  
“Really?” He asks, beside himself, a little too excited. Niall shoves a drink into his hand as he takes a drink from his own.  
He nods his head while his cup is still to his lips, “Yeah, been askin’ me if I’d seen you for an hour now.” He shouts over the music.  
Zayn downs his drink, and boy is it strong, whatever it is. His face puckers as he gives his cup back to Niall.  
“Another?” Niall asks.  
Zayn just nods his head yes. He’s coughing, still trying to recover from the first one.  
“Alright!” Niall cheers. “My kind of lad!” He refills the cup and returns it to Zayn.  
“That’s really sweet, but can we get something for the three of us back here.” Louis shoves his way next to Zayn, Danielle’s next to him, and Liam stumbling behind.  
“Sorry, lad.” He fills a few cups up for them. “There are some beers ‘ere too, help yourselves.”  
Zayn looks away for them for a second and does a double take. It’s him. He’s entering the room, and he’s working the crowds. He’s smiling, laughing, talking, casting a spell on them, and they’re eating it up. Harry loves the attention, and Zayn’s watching him. And when Harry glances his direction and sees him, the smile he’s wearing grows wider.  
His heart lurches in his chest as Harry makes his way to them. Zayn takes a sip of his drink, be cool.  
“Well, well, well look who actually let himself off of the compound for once,” Harry greets him. “Deadpool, I like it. It’s a good look for you,” He compliments Zayn’s costume.  
“Thank you, and what are you?” Zayn takes in Harry’s appearance. He’s wearing an olive colored, flowy shirt that might’ve been worn during the renaissance period. A golden crown sits lopsided on his head. “A king?”  
“A prince,” Harry corrects him. “Prince Harry, I thought it’d be funny.”  
Zayn chuckles, “It’s very clever.” Liam, the king of crystal clear, non-verbal communication, clears his throat. Zayn immediately takes a hint. “These are my friends,” He turns a little to point them out. “Louis, Danielle, and Liam. Guys, this is Harry.”  
“So,” Harry says. “Louis and Danielle, you’re David and Victoria Beckham.” He’s spot on, and probably the only person to guess correctly so far. Louis’ wearing a football uniform, and his girlfriend wore a little black dress, heels, and a short, bobbed brunette wig. He then turns to Liam, “This might be a tough one, but with the chest hair and fangs, I’m going to say you’re a werewolf.”  
Zayn stands back and watches, watching as Harry charms his friends. They know Zayn’s one-sided history with Harry better than anyone, and they’re just as shocked to be in the situation as Zayn was, still is. But the longer he stands there, the more he’s starting to feel the affect of the drink he downed. His senses are a bit hazy, his eyes are lagging, and he feels warm and too heavy for his body. He takes another drink from his cup anyway. It’s a downfall of his. He doesn’t go out often, but when he does, it only takes a couple of drinks before he’s gone.  
The electronic beat changes to something very different, something slower, but wildly popular considering how the house erupts into cheers.  
You’re the only power, you’re the only power  
Zayn recognizes it immediately, and so does Harry. “I love this song,” Harry squeals. “Come dance with me.” He grabs his hands. Before Zayn is even really aware of what’s going on, he’s being dragged to the center of the makeshift dance floor. There are bodies everywhere, bodies crowding them,sweaty and hot, squishing them together.  
“I can’t dance,” Zayn’s laughing.  
“What?” Harry shouts  
Zayn repeats himself, shouting even louder. He’s not sure how effective it is, because he’s a giggling mess.  
“I can’t either!” Harry joins him in his laughter. “Beautiful morning, you’re the sun in my morning babe, nothing unwanted. Just want to feel liberated. I just want to feel liberated. If I ever instigated I’m sorry, tell me who in here can relate,” Harry raps along to Father Stretch My Hands by Kanye West, word for word, and honestly, Zayn’s surprised.  
They’re bopping around carelessly, having the time of their drunken lives. Zayn’s drink is sloshing onto the front of his costume and onto the floor, but it doesn’t matter. “I was high when I met her. I was down in Tribeca. She get under your skin if you let her, and I don’t even want to talk about it,” He joins in.  
He stumbles forward into Harry, and Harry catches him by waist, steadying him, but Zayn notices that he doesn’t remove his hand. Zayn lets him draw him in a little closer. The electric sound returns, this particular song is in Spanish. They’re pressed nearly chest to chest as Harry guides him along to the beat. Zayn thinks he might faint from such close contact.  
Harry leans in, and Zayn tenses up, not sure what to do. “Your friends, they’ve got girlfriends?” Harry shouts over the music into Zayn’s ear.

He relaxes, though there’s a small ting of disappointment. Then again, what was he expecting? “Liam has been dating a girl named Sophia on and off since freshman year. They’re currently off. They’re too in love, but they’re idiots, so they won’t stay together. Lou’s been datin’ Danielle since last year, they’re sweet together,” Zayn shouts back.

“What about you? Did you come here with someone?”

Zayn can’t quite make out what he’s saying, so Harry repeats himself.

“Yeah, with Liam, Louis, and Danielle,” He answers, confused.

Harry laughs at this, hard, and Zayn’s missing the joke. “No, I meant did you come here with some, like a date.” He clarifies.

“Oh! Oh, sorry,” He shakes his head. “No, ‘fraid not,”

“Good, I’m glad,” Harry says, and that’s the end of that. Zayn doesn’t ask, because he’s afraid of the answer he might get. He knows that Harry obviously isn’t seeing someone, because he’d be there with him or her, not on the dance floor with Zayn, but there’s still the chance that Harry’s pursuing someone who has yet to arrive.

“Hey, now! Leave room for Jesus,” Zayn hears Liam’s voice shouting at them. He looks up to see Liam, who just so happened to be on his right, dancing with some girl. He had a beer in his hand; the girl has her back to him, grinding her arse into him. Zayn already knows Liam’s going to regret this, but he doesn’t say anything about it. He wants his friend to have a good time, even if it’s just in the moment.

Harry starts laughing. “You’re one to talk! Take it to a room, why don’t you?”

Before Liam has the chance to respond, his attention is brought back to the girl in front of him.

“I’m going to go get another drink,” Harry tells Zayn, and he notices how his speech is starting to slur slightly, and it’s kind of cute. He nods, thinking that he’d be left on the dance floor to find someone else to dance with, but Harry grabs him by the hand again, bringing him along. On their way back to the kitchen, they pass Louis and Danielle. They’re pressed together, just like Liam and the girl, but he’s whispering something in her ear and she’s laughing and if Zayn weren’t so happy for the two of them he’d be sick.

Harry and Zayn approach the unmanned bar. Since it’s Harry’s house after all, he’s digging through cabinets, rummaging and pulling out the things he needs. Zayn’s leaning against the counter to keep himself upright. He gives up and hops up onto it, and sits his red cup on the counter space to his right. “Have you ever done a tequila shot?” Harry asks, glancing over his shoulder at Zayn while reaches for a shot glass.

“No, I don’t think so?” He admits. Harry pulls down two shot glasses. Zayn continues to watch him as he gathers a lime wedge, a packet of salt, and the bottle of tequila.

Harry sits the glasses on the counter next to Zayn on the left. Sloppily, he pours the liquor into them, some of it splashing onto Zayn’s hand.

Niall reappears out of nowhere, he whispers something to Harry, and whatever it is, Harry nods along. Not wanting to intrude, Zayn swirls his finger around the rim of the glass, focusing his attention there. He picks it up, throwing it back.

Harry whips around, horrified. “No!” He starts laughing. “What are you doing?”

“Did I do something wrong?” He grimaces as the alcohol burns all the way down.

“Tequila shots?” Niall asks, ignoring his question. His eyes dart in between Zayn and Harry, one eyebrow raised in suspicion, and Harry suddenly looks like he’s been caught. “I’ll leave you two to it then,” Niall pats Harry on the back and walks off laughing. They both know something that Zayn’s obviously missing.

“Okay, Bradford bad boy, I’m going to teach you how to do a tequila shot,” Harry starts. Seeing Harry like this is distracting, and Zayn is trying so hard to listen, but he can’t. Harry’s face is a little red, and his pupils are dilated. There’s a permanent smile on his face, meaning there’s a permanent dimple, and Zayn’s in awe.

Harry dips finger into the tequila. “Tilt your head to the side,” He instructs, and Zayn does what he’s told. He dabs his finger along Zayn’s neck before grabbing the salt packet, sprinkling some over it. “Oh, I almost forgot,” Harry grabs the lime wedge. “Put this in your mouth,” He says as he holds it up to Zayn’s lips.

Zayn bites down on one half of it, the other half sticking out. He’s so drunk. His only state appears to be somewhere between smiling and laughing. He’s amused at this very moment, with his head still tilted to one side, waiting to see what’s so great about tequila shots. He’s waiting to see why both Niall and Harry are being suspicious.

“Ready?” Harry looks at him.

“Weady,” Zayn speech slurred by alcohol and the lime in his mouth.

Harry licks his lips before leaning forward. He’s standing in between Zayn’s legs, his hands pressed down on the counter next to his thighs, his tongue slowly licking up the trail of salt on Zayn’s neck. The drunken bliss on his face falls into something more transfixed as he watches the boy in front of him once he steps back. Harry picks up the glass, taking the shot, and Zayn’s heart is racing in his chest. His fogged mind is trying to make sense of what’s happening, but it’s all moving too fast for him to keep up.

Harry puts his mouth on the other end of the lime and sucks on it. Zayn’s eyes slip shut, and aside from the noise of the party, he hears the sounds Harry’s mouth is making. And god, it’s so hot, but he can’t cross the line. He grips the edge of the counter, doing everything in his power to not reach out and touch him.

And then it’s over. Harry pulls the lime from Zayn with his teeth. Zayn only looks at him, not sure what to say or do next, and Harry looks right back at him with intense green eyes. They’re still so close, and it’s killing Zayn. Suddenly it’s hard to breathe.

Harry lets the lime fall from his lips, and without much of a warning, he’s kissing Zayn.

It takes Zayn a few seconds to even process what’s happening. He’s here. He’s here with Harry. He’s here with Harry, and Harry is kissing him. He’s stunned to immobility, but he snaps out of it. He snaps out of it fast. His eyes slip shut, their lips moving together. They're even closer now as Harry pulls him to the edge of the counter,and Zayn wraps his arms around Harry’s torso.

He’s been dying for this. For four whole years, he has wondered and wondered what this moment was like. To actually want and to be wanted by Harry, to lick his way into the inside of Harry’s mouth and taste him. It’s fast and kind of dirty, sloppy as their tongues slid past each other.

“Zed, say hello to the camera!” He hears Louis laughing.

They pull apart, laughing embarrassedly. Harry buries his face in Zayn’s shoulder, hiding from the crowd that had gathered around them. Zayn looks at Louis, who has his phone pointed towards them. He’s too drunk to do anything else but laugh. Lazily, he gives Louis’ camera the finger, which makes the little crowd in the kitchen cheer.

Harry tilts his face back up to Zayn and pecks at his lips. “We should get out of here, yeah? Find somewhere a bit more private?” Harry whispers in his ear, his warm breath against Zayn’s ear makes him shiver, and he couldn’t agree more.

He slides down off of the counter, and Harry’s hand is already in his. He guides him through the partiers, up the stairs, and down a hallway. The party continues on downstairs, but the second floor is an entirely different place. The music is muffled, but he can feel it through the floor. The decorative, dim lighting in the hallway gives off hardly any light, but just enough in cool shades like orange and purple. He approaches a door and wriggles the doorknob with no avail.

“Well, looks like my room is occupied,” Harry says as he turns around to face Zayn.

From the time he walked into the party to now, something in Zayn has changed. Maybe it’s the alcohol coursing through him, or maybe it is finally knowing the taste of Harry, but for the first time, Zayn takes charge when it comes to Harry Styles.

He presses into Harry, his back hitting the wall as Zayn kisses Harry.

“So the Bradford bad boy lives up to his name after all?” Harry whispers between kisses, teasing.

“Shut up,” He mumbles, humming something like a laugh against Harry’s lips.

Harry slides down the wall, sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him. Zayn looks down at him confused. He takes Zayn’s hands in his and pulls him down on top him to where he’s straddling his lap.

It’s all so new and exciting. Zayn can count on one hand the amount of times he has experienced this. This, it’s amazing. The intimacy of drunken lust, how everything’s whispered as if it’s a secret. How it seems that there’s no one else in the entire world that you’d rather be with in that moment.

Harry rests his head back against the wall, looking at Zayn. “Is this okay?” He asks, his hands rubbing up and down Zayn’s thighs.

It’s fucking perfect. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Harry whispers, smiling as he leans forward.

“Okay,” Zayn snickers, his voice quiet as well.

Harry’s hand goes to the side of Zayn’s neck as they embrace again. It’s slower this time, deeper, their noses bumping together while tongues move in sync.

Zayn shifts on his lap, unintentionally grinding his hips down into Harry’s. They moan into each other’s mouths unexpectedly. 

“Fuck,” Zayn gasps. 

“Yeah?” Harry’s lips are so close to Zayn’s he can practically feel them. 

“Mhmm,” Zayn bridges the small gap between them. The sound of kissing fills the hallway. The breathy little sighs. Wet mouths moving against each other.Harry starts rolling his hips slowly upwards, rubbing against Zayn.

Zayn can’t take it. He surrenders. He bites down on his lip, pressing his hand against the wall and resting his head against his arm. … Harry starts kissing Zayn’s neck.

“I’ve wanked to you before, ya know,” Zayn blurts out.

“Really?” He nips at Zayn’s skin, undoubtedly leaving a mark.

Zayn shudders. “When I came to that rehearsal, and saw you on stage with that girl. God, once I got home I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was so fucking hot, Harry. You’re so hot.”

Harry stops, and offers Zayn his full attention. “I can show you how it goes,” Harry whispers into his mouth, his hands reaching to the back of Zayn’s costume, unzipping it slowly.

“Zayn?” He hears Liam, and really hopes it’s not Liam and that there’s some other person here named Zayn.

“Oh…wow,” Louis says. The voices and the footfalls halt. They both stop, looking up at Zayn’s friends. He only blinks at them, wanting them to get to their point as soon as possible.

“Danielle is outside with the Uber, we’ve got to go, Zayn,”

He shakes his head no. “I can leave later, go without me,” He protests.

“It’s okay, Zayn,” Harry says, and Zayn looks at him confused. “You should leave with your friends. I’ll see you around?”

He's not comprehending it. “See you around,” He says, kind of disappointed. He tries to remove himself from Harry, but he stumbles over. Liam and Louis loop their arms around him and aid him out of the hall and down the stairs.

Louis pauses once they get near the door. “I’ll be right back,” Louis says, pushing Zayn’s weight onto Liam.

“You can’t be serious,” Liam says in disbelief.

Lou’s already turning away before Liam can fully protest. “I’ll be quick,” He heads back up the stairs, leaving Liam with an inebriated Zayn.

“You guys fucking suck,” Zayn slurs while Liam helps him out of the house and towards the Uber. Cool October, Illinois breeze wash against his hot face.

“I know, I know,” Liam is the embodiment of patience. 

“Woah, is he okay?” Danielle asks concerned. 

“Yeah, just very drunk and not too pleased with us.” Liam says, “Help me get him into the car.” 

“Dani, Harry Styles wanted to fuck me.” Zayn tells her, the speech near unintelligent. 

She tries suppressing a laugh, and it almost works. “Maybe there will be a next time?” She says as she helps usher him into the car. 

Zayn laughs at this. He laughs so hard it's almost like Danielle told a joke.

Louis reappears and slides into the back seat. Zayn’s wedged in between him and Dani, while Liam takes the front passenger seat. And then they're moving, moving away from the party, moving away from what almost was. A chance he'd probably never get again. 

Before he knows it, he’s out cold.

 

November

Spinning. Everything is spinning.

Wherever he is, he’s on his back and the surface is cold and hard. His senses are coming back to him one by one. He can hear a TV playing in the next room. The lights burn through his shut eyelids.

His eyes flutter open, daring to test the waters, but he regrets it immediately. There’s a fierce streak of pain shooting into his temple, so much so he feels it in his back. He groans, turning his head to the side and wincing.

It takes a few more moments before he’s able to sit up. His costume is rolled down to his waist. He looks around, trying to piece it together.

So, he knows he’s in his bathroom, because he woke up on the floor, dangerously close to the toilet. His mouth is cotton dry. There’s a vile taste of vomit in the back of his throat.

He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and pulls himself up. He doesn’t even remember how he got home last night. Actually, he doesn’t remember much of last night at all.

Zayn takes a look at himself in the mirror. He’s the picture of death. He’s squinting at himself, his hair sticking up every which way. There’s a discolored mark on his neck that he notices. He brings his fingers up to touch it, examining it. What happened? 

Slowly, he shuffles out of the room, consciously putting one foot in front of the other. If he ever got hit by a train, this is what he imagines what it’d feel like.

“Zayn Malik, the man of the hour! Or should I call you the ‘Bradford bad boy’?” Louis applauds, making his head pound. He sighs. This isn’t the time for this.

“What are you going on about?”

“Last night,” Liam says.

Zayn thinks about it. Nothing remarkable happened. Honestly, the Halloween party is spotty at best, only bits and pieces coming to memory. They went to two parties last night: one of Danielle’s friends and Harry’s. He remembers seeing both Niall and Harry, even walking around and talking with Harry. He remembers go upstairs with Harry, and that’s it.

He shrugs. “What about it?”

Liam and Louis exchange glances before bursting out into laughter.

“What?”

Louis hurries to grab his phone from his pocket. “Come here, you’ve got to see this.”

“You really don’t remember last night at all?” Liam asks as Zayn walks up to the back of the couch.

“No,” He says, agitated. He wants nothing more than to get a glass of water and to crawl into bed.

Louis holds the screen up high enough for the three of them to watch. It’s from the party. The music is loud, and Louis’ drunken accent appears to be brasher. Zayn’s already bored with the video.

“Holy shit, bro! Is that Zayn?” Louis’ voice blares from the screen. “Oh shit, it is!” He’s laughing in disbelief. He’s got his camera aimed towards the kitchen, as he gets closer, the scene he’s seeing comes into focus on screen.

Zayn forgets how to breathe. Liam and Louis look up at him, trying to gauge his reaction, but his eyes are glued to the screen. His mouth is hanging open, and he wants to say that he doesn’t believe it, but he’s seeing it for himself.

He’s making out with Harry Styles, at least he did, and he doesn’t even remember doing it. He feels his blood draining from his body. 

“Zed, say hello to the camera!” Louis is laughing in the video. 

“Turn it off,” Zayn groans, his headache getting impossibly worse. 

“But wait, there’s more,” Lou swipes a few times to the right, past pictures of him with Danielle, to a picture of Zayn and Harry. They’re alone in a hallway, sitting on the floor, Zayn straddling Harry’s lap, their mouths pressed together.

Zayn just stands there, letting it soak in. Something that he's wanted forever happened, against all odds, and he doesn't even remember it. It has to be the biggest joke of all 

***  
The third time is when you know you’ve got it…

Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto E Minor OP. 64, that is the piece of music that’s sitting on Zayn’s music stand. It’s old, but it’s a favorite of his. After a stressful week, it feels good to play something familiar. It’s like muscle memory, his mind only half engaged as he plays. There’s a soothing factor to being able to carelessly draw his bow to strings and still getting a beautiful tune.

Out of nowhere, there's a knock at the practice room’s door. It throws Zayn off of his balance. Annoyed, he stops for a second. “There’s someone in here,” he hollers and waits, seeing if they'll go away. A few seconds later, the person is pounding again. 

“You can't be serious,” Zayn grumbles to himself as he gets up from his chair. He sits his violin on it before going over to the door. He swings it open, ready to dismiss them, but he stops.

“You seemed like the type to have a schedule,” Harry says. 

Eight days. It has been eight days since Zayn has last seen him at the party. Hell, it's Zayn’s first time even hearing from him. He has to admit, it's a weird place to be in. Does Harry remember anything? Are they supposed to talk about this sort of thing? Is it never supposed to be mentioned again, just forgotten like a drunken mistake? But something is off about Harry. He almost looks nervous. 

“Can I come in?” He asks, and Zayn steps to the side, allowing him to enter into the little practice room. He closes the door behind them.

“I have a question for you, and I want you to answer honestly,” Harry says.

“Okay,” Zayn replies, but now it’s his turn to be nervous. 

“Is it true that you've had a thing for me since freshmen year?”

Zayn’s heart explodes in his chest. He swallows. “Who told you that?”

“Louis,” Harry starts. “At the party, you left with them, but he came back up and told me. Even said something like ‘he's my best friend, don't lug him around just to toss him out when you're done’.” 

He's mortified. “I'm sorry?” it's the only thing he can think to say. 

“So it's true, then?”

Zayn nods, coming clean. “It is, yes.” He imagines there'd be a huge weight lifted from his shoulders. The cat’s out of the bag. The one person at Northwestern, it seemed like, who didn't know about Zayn liking Harry was Harry, and now he knows. But there’s nothing. He just waits and sees what the boy thinks about it.

Harry doesn’t say anything, not at first. He just moves wordlessly towards the exit. Zayn steps out of his way, but Harry grabs him gently by the arm and pushes his back against the door. He gasps a little, looking up at Harry. Come on, what’s your move, Zayn thinks. They’re standing so closely together, and Harry’s staring at his mouth. But he’s visibly torn, and Zayn wants to take the leap, to take charge, but he’s helpless. His heart is pounding, and he’s painfully aware of the rise and fall of his chest with each breath he takes.

“What are you doing?” Zayn’s voice is soft.

Harry lowers his face into the curve of Zayn’s neck, planting a lonely kiss at the base. He shivers involuntarily, his breath hitching. “Came to finish what we started at the party,” His lips move against Zayn’s neck as he mumbles into his skin. He kisses his way up, his mouth next to Zayn’s ear, “Wanted to see if I like you as much as I think I do,” He whispers. 

This is a dream, he tells himself. It’s a dream, it’s only a dream, and it’s only a matter of time before he wakes up, alone, in his bed. But god, does it feel real. Harry’s mouth at his neck. His breath hot against Zayn’s skin as his fingers work to undo Zayn’s belt. This is a dream, as their lips meet once again, so urgently like there isn't enough time in the world. Harry shoves his hand down the front of Zayn’s pants, grabbing ahold of his cock. Zayn gasps at the touch. Harry takes the chance to slip his tongue to Zayn’s mouth while he slowly strokes him. The rings on Harry’s fingers are cool against his burning skin. So much is happening so fast, his head is swimming with so many thoughts at once it’s overwhelming.

This is a dream as Harry drops down to his knees before him, tugging Zayn’s jeans and boxers down so that they pool around his ankles. 

Zayn’s heart might actually stop beating. He's on the verge of hyperventilating with anticipation as he watches Harry like this. Harry, who is lifting his shirt slightly and placing kisses on his the little heart on his waist and on the inked words “don't think I won't” on the opposite side. Harry, who's still stroking him so carefully. Harry, who actually wants him.

“Have you ever been with a boy before?”’ Harry looks up at him through his eyelashes, his voice soft and inviting. God, you're so pretty. 

Zayn can only shake his head no, his ability to speak has been stolen from him.

Harry flicks his wet tongue over the head. His pink lips wrapping around it, sucking slightly before pulling away with a popping noise. 

Zayn’s taking hollow breaths as Harry licks up his shaft from base to tip. And he watches every second of it, trying to take it all in, trying to memorize it. The way Harry unflinchingly maintains eye contact. The way his cheekbones hollow once he finally takes Zayn into his mouth fully. He’s fighting then, struggling to keep his eyes open, to witness the miracle being performed. But he can't. God, he tries, but his eyes slip shut, his head falling back against the door as he shudders.

It feels so good, so unbelievably good. His mouth is hot and wet around him. And Zayn is seeing stars. Harry goes all the way down, his nose pressing against Zayn’s lower stomach. He moans helplessly slips out amongst his pleasured sighs. Harry hums around Zayn’s dick, obviously content with himself. 

Harry continues to bob his head, his hand pumping Zayn the rest of the way. Zayn knows he's not going to last much longer. It's been awhile since he found himself in this position, and Harry puts every girl he's ever been with to shame. His moans slip from him, each one a little louder than the last.

Harry pulls away, his hand steadily going. “Shh,” He laughs a little, his voice low, quiet. “You have to be a bit more quiet,” 

“Sorry,” Zayn chuckles breathlessly. He'd completely forgotten where he was.

Harry lowers his head, taking Zayn’s balls in his mouth, sucking on them. Zayn bites down on his bottom lip, hard, to keep from exposing them in their public setting. Harry then goes back to the shaft, taking his time.

Without thinking, Zayn’s hand is at the back of Harry’s head, pulling at his brunette curls. It makes Harry moan, really moan. It’s deep and throaty, resonating around Zayn’s cock. 

He forces his eyes open, looking down at Harry who’s already looking up at him. He starts going faster, his hand twisting ever so slightly. And Zayn’s losing it. He's holding on for dear life, trying to make it last, but he's unraveling quickly. He tugs harder on Harry’s hair, and Harry moans louder. And before he can stop it he's coming. He’s coming and Harry stills sucking and he feels like he's floating. His hips jolt forward, his tip hitting the back of Harry’s throat. 

He thinks he might have said something, muttered some obscenity when he came, but he isn't sure. What he does know is that he's weak, leaning against the door. Harry slowly sucks all the way up until Zayn’s out of his mouth.

Zayn pulls his boxers and pants back up around his waist, fastening them along with his belt. Harry doesn't move. Instead, he sits with his back against the wall. Zayn doesn't want to just leave him there, so he joins him on the floor, his back leaning against the wall as well. 

“So,” Zayn starts. Harry turns his head to look at him. “Do you like me as much as you think you do?” 

He laughs. “I just had your dick in my mouth in a practice room. If I didn't like you, I wouldn't still be here talking to you,” Harry gives him a look. 

“I guess you're right,” Zayn chuckles.

“Oh, I know I'm right.” He smiles.

Zayn scoots over, a little closer to Harry. He leans in pressing a single kiss to Harry’s lips. 

“Play something for me?” Harry asks. 

“What do you want to hear?”

“Whatever you want to play.”

Zayn gets up and walks over to his chair. He picks up his violin and glances back at Harry, who's stretched out on the floor, eyes shut with his arms placed behind his head.

He smiles to himself as he sits down and brings the violin to his chin. 

This is real. It's real. 

***

Four years ago, he never could have imagined this. Sure he did imagine it all of the time, wondered what it was like, but the reality of it all surpassed his daydreams. 

They’re keeping it casual. No official names. No titles. They’re two beings together, only testing their limits, seeing where it goes. That’s the dangerous thing about Harry Styles. He’s so unattainable, always out of reach, like rushing water through fingers, but Zayn’s got him. Zayn of all people. It’s laughable, but now that he’s gotten a taste, he doesn’t know if he can just let Harry go. He’s like a bad habit to an addict, fresh air to the senses. 

But it took no time before Zayn’s I became their we. Zayn and Harry. Harry and Zayn. Their mornings, noons, and nights, their everyday, was wrapped up in each other. 

-

He’s sitting on a stool at the bar counter in Harry’s kitchen, his feet swinging back and forth as he watches him. 

Harry has been busy moving around the kitchen since Zayn got there. Mixing and measuring. Pouring and stirring. It’s the most dressed down Zayn’s ever seen him. Hair in a bun, white t shirt and sweatpants on. It makes him look more real, like he’s only human after all. There’s a streak of flour going across his cheek from the pie crust he rolled out from scratch.

He takes his crust and carefully lines the pie tin sitting on the counter. He then picks up the bowl with filling that he too whipped up from scratch. With his spatula, he scrapes it out of the bowl onto the pie crust. He’s concentrated, his brows furrowed, and his focus drawn to the task at hand. He looks beautifully domestic. And Zayn’s dream shifted. No longer he wondered what it would be like to kiss and to hold Harry, but looking at him now, he wondered what it would be like to come home to this. It’s premature, Zayn knows it, but Harry looks so natural. And Zayn is helpless.

“Have you always had a knack for baking?” Zayn asks despite himself.

Harry glances up at him, his features relaxing before looking back down. He smooths out the pie filling now that it’s all in the tin. “I used to be a baker back in Holmes Chapel,” He says. “Or I worked at a bakery I should say. I use the term baker loosely.” He picks up the uncooked pie and turns towards the preheated oven, placing it carefully on the middle rack. 

“Well, it was fun watching you make a pie and all, but it would have been more entertaining if you were wearing an apron,” Zayn says. “Only an apron.”

Harry laughs, drying his hands off on the towel near the sink. “Oh really?” He steps around the counter towards Zayn.

“Mhmm,” He turns to face Harry, who’s now standing in front of him. 

“Take a shower with me, then? Hopefully I can make it up to you?” Harry whispers, just an inch or so away from his mouth before pressing his lips to Zayn’s.

Zayn hums a chuckle against Harry’s mouth. “No, we’re going to be late,” He says between kisses. 

“No one’s going to miss us,” Harry disputes, lips still moving against Zayn’s. 

Zayn pushes him away playfully. “I don’t want to be late for my first real Thanksgiving dinner,” He swats at Harry’s hands that are at his thighs. He points adamantly towards the stairs. “Go.”

“Fine,” He presses one last kiss before turning away, waltzing off towards the stairs. “Don’t go anywhere,” He calls behind him. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Zayn says, and he means it. 

-

They’re late regardless. 

Zayn climbs out of Harry’s car, careful not to drop the pie as he closes the door with his foot. Hinsdale, Illinois, about forty five minutes away from Evanston, where Danelle’s family lives and so graciously invited a bunch of British boys to celebrate an American tradition. 

Harry walks up beside him, holding out his hand for Zayn to take it. It takes him aback.  
This is what it meant to be with someone, boy or otherwise. But Zayn’s not out, despite what happened at the Halloween party. His family had no clue about Harry. The only people who knew about them were their closest friends, per Zayn’s request, and here they were. About to enter to into Danielle’s parents’ house, complete strangers, as whatever Harry and Zayn were.

It clicks. “I’m sorry, it’s just a habit,” Harry drops his hand to his side. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Zayn grins at him reassuringly. “Got to keep both hands on this pie you worked so hard on.”

They walk up to the two story brick house. With the hand that contained the bottle of red wine, Harry rings the doorbell. Just on the other side, Zayn could hear laughing and talking, merriment carrying on without them.

The door swings open, revealing a smiling woman, who embodied the same girlish charm as Danielle. She’s mid laugh, entertaining a joke that neither Harry or Zayn heard. 

“You two must be Harry and Zayn,” She gives an amused sigh. 

“Yes, ma’am, we are,” Harry gives a dazzling smile, and Zayn just looks over at him with entertained disbelief. He’d charm his way out of speeding ticket if he could.

“None of that ma’am stuff, call me Georganne,” She says. “Come on inside.”

They step in, the aroma of what Zayn can only assume is Thanksgiving hits him, and god does it smell good. The atmosphere of it all put him at ease. There was a certain level of merriment that lingered in the air. Though he can’t see them as they follow Georgeanne deeper into the house, he hears people laughing and talking. There’s an American football game on somewhere in the house.

Zayn and Harry turn the corner behind Danielle’s mother to see that the whole gang is there. Louis is talking to Niall, both of them with a beer in hand. They’re undoubtedly talking shit about each other’s sports team. Liam is talking to Sophia, who Zayn is actually surprised to see.

“Look who decided to show up,” Niall is the first to comment when they walk into the kitchen. “We were starting to starve here.”

“I’m sure you were,” Zayn rebukes as he sits the pie on the kitchen counter.

“What held you guys up, anyway?” Louis takes a swig from his beer.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Harry says, winking at him and handing over the bottle of wine to Georganne.

“Nothing happened,” Zayn quickly interjects, not sure if Danielle’s mum heard or what she thought. “The pie just took a little longer to finish baking.”

“Watch yourself, Styles. You’re new around here,” He points at him, glaring at him jokingly.

-

They’re passing around dishes, scooping this, scooping that onto their plates. There are the assumed basics: turkey and veggies. But there are definitely things that he doesn’t recognize. Sweet potatoes, it appears, with marshmallow on top. Something that looked a lot like cornbread, but he isn’t sure what it actually is. He thinks he hears someone call it stuffing. He has no clue what to do with the glob of cranberry sauce that sat on a platter.

“Don’t worry,” Harry leans next to him and whispers. “It’s all good, I promise. Except the sweet potatoes, they’re kind of weird.”

“Thank you,” He whispers back, smiling.

“So, what are we all thankful for?” Georganne asks. “Danielle, you start”

One by one they make their way around the table, each person giving a little speech. Some more serious than others. Some a little more heartfelt, others done with little thought. And after each and every person, Zayn gets more and more nervous. He hates this. He hates this. He hates this. He thinks of things to say, crosses them out mentally and tries again, until he think he finds something worth sharing, but it too eventually gets chopped.

“Well first and foremost, I am thankful that the Packers are having a good season. Go Packs go,” Harry starts. This prompts laughs and boos from Mr. Campbell and Danielle’s younger brother. “But seriously, I’m thankful for the people I’ve met this year. I’ve been fortunate enough to meet some amazing people since I’ve been at Northwestern, but nothing quite like the people I’m sharing this meal with.”

Harry gets a round of applause and a few taunts from Louis. It’s a sweet moment.

It’s Zayn’s turn.

He clears his throat. “Uh, I’m like grateful for interruptions.” Zayn says, it’s the first thing to come to mind. The people in the room look at him, confused, trying to politely make sense of it while they smile at him uncertainly. “What I mean is like...I don’t often stray from like my own lane. I’m not a person to go out and risk something, anything really, because even if the outcome is good, there’s still the chance that it will go very, very wrong. But then you meet a person who just kind of like interrupts you, quite literally. They stop you in your tracks. Change your course. And that’s what I’m thankful for.”

Danielle has her hand over her heart, clutching at her chest. Liam, Sophia, and Louis are all smiling at him, because they know. Georganne starts a slow applause that slowly builds with everyone joining in. Zayn ducks his head, smiling sheepishly. Harry grabs his hand underneath the table and gives it a gentle squeeze. It’s enough.

“I don’t think I can follow after that,” Niall says to their right, and everyone laughs.

***  
Zayn’s been researching, because Zayn’s ready.

He wants to.

He’s never done anything quite like it before, so when it happens, if it happens, he wants to know what to expect. He’s been reading and watching, weighing the pros and cons. And right now, the pros were definitely far better than the cons.

If he wanted this, if they were going to keep doing whatever they were doing, Zayn’s willing to do it all the way.

-

They’re sitting on the couch side by side, a movie blaring from the tv screen in front of them. It’s a shame, because Zayn actually likes Captain America: Civil War a lot, but that isn’t the point. The point is, Harry thought he was coming over just to hang out and watch a movie, but Zayn has other plans. And his plan is working out perfectly.

Harry has his hand on the side of Zayn’s neck, their mouths moving in sync and tongues sliding past one another.

Zayn moves to straddle Harry’s lap, their kiss only breaking briefly. Harry puts his hands on Zayn’s waist, pulling Zayn impossibly closer to him.

“What about the movie?” Harry says between kisses. They both know he’s only joking. He didn’t give a damn about the movie. Harry’s hands slide up underneath Zayn’s shirt, running up his back. He shivers. His hands. Zayn really fucking loves them. They’re big, and warm, and he loves feeling them on him.

“Fuck the movie,” Zayn mutters into Harry’s mouth. He begins to undo the buttons of Harry’s shirt, frustrated that it’s kind of harder than it looks. He pulls away from Harry for a second, his focus drawn to what he’s trying to do. Determined, he undoes the buttons one by one, revealing Harry’s inked torso. Helplessly, he runs his fingers down the smooth surface, his fingers dipping slightly into the abs that laid just under the skin.

He leans forward, pressing a sloppy kiss to Harry’s mouth. “I’m ready,” He says.

It’s enough to stop Harry. He pushes Zayn away slightly, who’s trying to keep going as if nothing happened. They look at each other. “Really?” Harry asks. “Because blowjobs and handjobs are fine. I don’t want you to feel pressured to do-”

Zayn slips his fingers in Harry’s mouth to shut him up. “I want this, I’m ready, okay?”

Harry nods. Zayn retracts his fingers and kisses him. “I want you to fuck me,” He whispers into Harry’s mouth as he pushes Harry’s shirt down his shoulders. He starts kissing down his neck.

“Oh, I can definitely do that,” Harry says.

He slides to the edge of the couch; making sure Zayn’s legs are wrapped around his waist before he stands up. Zayn gasps unintentionally. Harry blindly stumbles towards the direction of Zayn’s bedroom. Zayn yanks his own t-shirt off as Harry pushes through the door.

He kneels down onto the bed, Zayn’s bare back hitting his sheets. Harry’s on top of him, nestled in between his legs. Zayn’s screaming internally as Harry’s mouth finds his once again. Sure, they’ve fooled around quite a bit, but never like this. There’s a sense of urgency just underneath the surface, like they’re running out of time. And Zayn can’t wait any longer. He pushes Harry onto his back, his eyes trained excitedly on the boy in front of him.

Zayn sits up in between Harry’s legs. He yanks at the belt and undoes the Harry’s pants. Altogether, he pulls them off along with his boxers and tosses them to the side. He stops to marvel for a second. Here’s Harry. Stretched out on his bed, completely in the nude, looking at him, wanting him. He leans down, kissing down his torso quickly before taking Harry’s erect cock into his mouth.

His brown eyes flick up to Harry, whose head has fallen back into the pillow, his lips parted. Zayn closes his eyes and begins to bob his head up and down slowly. Harry jerks his hips forward, the tip of his cock catching Zayn by surprise as it hits him in the back of the throat.

Zayn pulls away. “Easy now,” He says jokingly.

“Sorry,” Harry whispers, smiling, with his arm draped over his eyes.

He sucks the tip as his hand strokes Harry the rest of the way. It’s a vast improvement from when he first tried this, Harry coaching him along the way. He breathes harshly through his nose, getting into it as Harry moans little by little as he takes him into his mouth fully. He hollows his cheeks, his thick tongue sliding up and down the shaft. He feels Harry’s hand creeping to the back of his head, pushing him down farther, and he lets him for a while. But Harry stops him.

“C’mere,” He says, and Zayn crawls back up to him. Harry pulls him down into a kiss, his hands running down Zayn’s back, grabbing at his arse. He starts to ease a finger in there, but Zayn catches his hand.

“Already took care of that,” Zayn smiles against Harry’s lips, clearly proud of himself.

Harry pulls away from the kiss, an amused smirk on his face. “Did you?”

He nods, smiling. “Mhmm,” He leans down and presses a single kiss to his lips.

“Alright, then,” Harry sits up with Zayn on top of him. “Condom?”

Zayn removes himself from Harry and reaches over into his nightstand to retrieve it, Harry teasingly kissing his side as he does so. Once he has it and lube, he reaches them both to Harry. He sits the little bottle on the bed as he fumbles with the wrapper.

“Do I make you nervous, Harry Styles?” He smiles at Harry’s unsteady fingers, remembering those near exact words he said to Zayn all the way back in September.

“As hell,” Harry smiles at him as he gets the condom out and rolls it down onto himself. “Get on your hands and knees.”

Zayn sits on all fours, legs spread. Harry is behind him. His lips ghosting the curve of his spine, making him shiver. This is it. He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. He’s nervous. It was like losing his virginity all over again. It’s new, and exciting, and excruciatingly nerve wrecking. He can hear his heart pounding in his ears, feel it in his throats. He wants this.

“Grab that pillow and put it underneath you,” Harry instructs him.

“Why?” Zayn asks, genuinely curious. He reaches forward and grabs the closest pillow, positioning like he’s told to do.

“Trust me,” Harry says. He pulls Zayn’s hips up and back, and Zayn can feel Harry pressing against him. He holds his breath, heart racing with anticipation.

Harry pushes slowly into him.

Zayn clenches his teeth, shutting his eyes tight. At the same time, Harry gasps, a swear word falling from his lips.

“Are you okay?” Zayn asks, his voice hoarse. This isn’t what he imagined at all.

“You’re just- holy shit you’re really tight,” Harry pants out. “How are you feeling?”

He shakes his head, gripping his bed sheets. “I’m not seeing the appeal.”

“Do you need me to stop?”

He shakes head no. He wants this to work. “Give it a few more minutes,” His says, certain.

Harry starts moving his lips slowly into Zayn. He sighs. If it weren’t for the slight pain he was currently feeling, he would greatly admire Harry’s self control, but right now he can’t. He’s trying to think of why anyone would enjoy this. His sheets are completely fisted in his hands as Harry goes deeper. All the while, Zayn’s hoping, praying that this will somehow turn out to be decent at least. He feels Harry shift a little, still taking his time, and just like that something changes.

Zayn moans unexpectedly, fierce nerve of pleasure coursing through him. Whatever it is, that’s it. That’s the big deal, that’s the appeal, that’s the one pro that outweighed all of the cons.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, trying it again.

Zayn moans unintentionally louder, nodding. “Just like that,” He breathes out. 

Harry removes his hands from Zayn’s waist and grips his shoulders, pumping into him faster and faster, and Zayn swears he sees the face of a god. And just when he thought it couldn’t get any better, it did. Harry reaches down and starts stroking Zayn’s cock while thrusting into him. Zayn’s breathing catches in his throat as Harry presses a kiss into his back. Daringly, he pushes his hips back into Harry’s, meeting him halfway. He moans in response, and Zayn nearly comes right then and there. The dark, rich tone of Harry and skin audibly slapping against skin fills the room.

They continue on like this, in bliss, for a moment. “Are you close?” Harry asks through labored breaths.

Zayn can feel it building slowly, nestling, and waiting in the pit of his stomach. He simply nods his head, not trusting his mouth to convey any coherent sentences. He’s trying to keep up with Harry, but he’s completely dazed. Everything feels so clouded and out of touch. The one thing, the only thing, he can really focus on is Harry, and the things he’s doing. It’s all so new, and he fucking loves it. Every second, every detail.

He whines a little when Harry stops stroking him, but it’s short lived as Harry pushes Zayn’s hips into the pillow underneath him, forcing him onto his stomach. He continues to thrust into him, and Zayn sees why the pillow is needed. The friction from Harry moving against him and the pillow underneath him causes friction against his erection.

“Fuck, Harry,” He moans, reaching back and grabbing at Harry’s ass, pulling him closer to him. His breathy sighs become more and more sporadic. He’s so close, he dizzy. Harry’s thrust are getting harsher and sloppily out of sync. His hands are back at Zayn’s waist, gripping him tight. He hears Harry moaning harshly, and before he can comprehend it, he’s coming. Coming harder than he ever has before.

He has to catch his breath, his head suddenly to heavy to hold up as his cheek presses into his mattress. “Holy shit,” Zayn breathes out. Harry pulls out of him, falling to his side. Zayn rolls over to face him, his red-faced, panting Harry. He looks up at Zayn, a crooked grin on his face. He pulls Zayn to him, and Zayn laughs as Harry presses one, long kiss to his lips.  
“How was that?” Harry asks, twirling Zayn’s hair around his finger.

He smiles, “It was perfect.”

They sit in silence for a moment, coming down from a post sex high.

“Are you seeing anyone else?” Zayn blurts out, his head rolling to the side to look at Harry. He didn’t want to know if Harry was sleeping with anyone else, but he wanted to know if he was the only one who was getting to see Harry like this. This. Spent and tired. Deliriously so. Speech, smiles, and touches all affectionately lazy.

Harry looks over at him too. “No. Are you?”

Zayn chuckles. It’s music to his ears. “No.”

“Do you want it to be just the two of us?”

Exclusively just them. Harry and Zayn. Zayn and Harry. “Yeah,” Zayn says giddily, smiling.

 

December

 

Comfort zones.

Zayn knows all about them. He lives in them, strives in them. It’s rare that he’ll stray from them. But Harry, it’s like he’s never heard of them. Nothing makes him uncomfortable. And for Zayn, it’s a double-edged sword. He’s experiencing more, getting out there, and trying things for the first time. And he’s doing them all with Harry. It’s overwhelming, but he’s still learning to get used to it.

But Harry never pressures him. It’s always Zayn’s choice. Just like it’s Zayn’s choice to start holding Harry’s hand in public. To kiss him every now and then despite whom might be looking. And though Harry’s been the epitome of patient, Zayn can tell Harry appreciates the thought of them being more open. Unafraid and nothing to hide.

But again, he’s still learning.

-

It’s just above freezing in Evanston, IL. Winter has arrived in full, a force to be reckoned with. But it doesn’t stop anyone in town from getting out. The outdoor rink is unsurprisingly packed with people, young and old, skating merrily.

“I hate this,” Zayn says from his place on the bench.

“You don’t hate it, you haven’t even tried it. Stand up,” Harry gives him a look.

Zayn glares at him for a second, but Harry doesn’t budge. He looks so picturesque. Snow falls gracefully onto Harry’s bun and eyelashes. White specks collect on his black coat and the front of his tan oversized sweater. He looks beautiful. With a sigh of defeat, he gets up unsteadily, his legs wobbling uncertainly underneath him as he tries to balance on thin blades. Uneasy is an understatement. Only on concrete, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to survive this date. But like always, he’s going to try.

He takes a wobbly step forward, his hand immediately reaching out and latching onto Harry’s arm.

“Here, I got you,” Harry chuckles, looping his arm around Zayn as they waddle together towards the ice rink. It’s already cold out, but the air around the rink drops a few noticeable degrees. Instinctively, either out of fear or lack of warmth, Zayn nestles closer into Harry’s side.

Harry steps down into the ice rink first. He reaches for Zayn once he’s facing him. And Zayn slips his hands into Harry’s, squeezing a bit too hard as he joins Harry reluctantly on the ice. Oh, he hates this for sure. His entire body tenses up. His feet glide along outside of his control. His grip on Harry grows impossibly tighter as Harry skates backwards effortlessly, tugging him along slowly. Children far younger than them, bundled up from head to toe, zip by laughing and racing one another.

“Relax,” Harry smiles at him fondly. “You’re not dead yet, so you’re doing great.”  
“People really do this for fun?” Zayn asks, wrinkling his nose. His focus is solely on his feet.

“Yes, and believe it or not, some people actually enjoy it enough to do it as a sport,” Harry teases him.

Zayn dares to look up at him. “Thanks, you twat.”

Harry shrugs. “Fine,” He says as he lets go of Zayn’s hands and begins to skate further away.

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait,” Zayn says frantically. He’s reaching desperately for Harry, who’s laughing at him in return. “I’m sorry, I take it back!” He pleads. He feels his legs giving away underneath him. “Harry!” He yells before tumbling down into the ice. It’s just as hard and unforgiving as he imagined it would be. He lays there for a second, staring up at the gray sky. Blinking as snow gently falls on his face. Harry skates into view and leans over him with a smile on his face. He reaches out a hand and Zayn takes it, allowing Harry to help him up.

Harry starts dusting him off, knocking bits of shaved ice out of Zayn’s black hair. “As you were saying?”

“Shut up, are you just going to joke about me or actually teach me how to ice skate?”

Harry moves to Zayn’s side, their fingers intertwining as the hold hands. “Just look at my feet, move yours like this.” He instructs as he motions the movements. Zayn watches, observes, takes mental notes. He mimics them horribly, but it’s a slight improvement, if that, from the awkward sliding around he’d been doing originally.

They’re able to move around the ice rink slowly but sufficiently. Zayn remains just close enough to the wall and latched to Harry for good measure. He isn’t too keen on the idea of falling again. There were a few kids who stepped side to side, little fingers grasping onto the wall around the rink for dear life, but they managed to have a good time with their equally terrified friends. Zayn laughs a little. If it weren’t for Harry, he would happily squeeze his way onto the wall right next to them.

“We should try that,” Harry nudges Zayn lightly, grabbing his attention. He looks in the direction of Harry’s focus. There’s a couple skating together in the center of the rink, but it looks like they’re dancing. Not awkward arm gestures and uncertain feet. No, they are dancing, like ballroom dancing on ice, and it’s beautiful. They’re in step with each other, feet moving fancily as they move in sync. He spins her around. They do little hops and turns, always skating back to face each other. He lifts her with one arm and somehow spins in a circle with her on his shoulder before she’s down in his arms again, still spinning. Gracefully, he puts her down on her feet again without missing a beat.

They must be regulars around here, because whereas Harry and Zayn are losing their shit, the people skating around them went on as if nothing happened.

“If we tried that we would die, or at least I would die, and I was hoping that you liked me enough not to get rid of me just yet,” Zayn says.

Harry raises an eyebrow and looks over at Zayn. “Who said anything about me liking you?”

“You kissed me at the Halloween party, remember?” Zayn laughs. “Not the other way around.”

“And thank God I did,” Harry says chuckling. “Or else where would you be? Still hoping that I could read minds and somehow know that you liked me?”

Zayn nods, because he knows Harry’s right, “Touché.”

Thinking back on it, there’s no way he would’ve made a pass at Harry, even after four years of longing, even after finally becoming friends in the fourth year of longing. Harry terrified him, still terrifies him at times. If the state of their current relationship was solely Zayn’s responsibility, they would probably still be just friends. Friends while Zayn’s crush on him grew more and more pathetic by the day, but Harry did something that Zayn could not. He took a chance, and Zayn couldn’t be more grateful.

“When did you first realize you liked me?” Zayn asks.

Harry doesn’t answer at first. Zayn isn’t sure if he heard him, but he decides not to ask again when Harry speaks, “When I first saw you at dinner when you were eating alone, and I came to your table.”

“You’re so cliché.” Zayn laughs.

“No, listen. I’m serious,” He chuckles. “I thought you were endearing, especially the fact that I made you so nervous. But I think I was actually interested when you were out by the Arch playing violin, and you played The Secret Life of Daydreams before you joined me for my picnic.”

“If I’d known that, I would’ve played my violin for you four years ago. Saved myself the stress,” Zayn says jokingly.

But Harry’s face still has a touch of seriousness. “Imagine that,” He says.

“What?”

“If we started this four years ago. Where would we be?”

Where would they be? Would they have lasted? Would it have been a quick rendezvous that both parties hoped to forget? Would they be bitter, heartbroken exes? Or would they still be together, madly in love, planning a life together once they were done at Northwestern, with a shared apartment and a cat? They’ll never know.

“Better late than never,” Zayn offers.

“Has anyone ever told you, Zayn Malik, that you have a way with words?”

He shakes his head, “No.”

Harry gives him a dimpling smile, “Good.”

-

Zayn has to admit, downtown Evanston is always beautiful this time of year. Despite the biting cold and constant snow, something about it him made him feel warm and cozy, even if it is metaphorically. The storefronts are decorated with strings of lights, brightly illuminating the streets at night. Reminders that Christmas is coming is laced throughout the entire town, woven into its people and its places. The biggest wreath Zayn’s ever seen is situated in Church Street Plaza, and the town’s Christmas tree isn’t too far from it.

He doesn’t really celebrate Christmas, not now, not ever, but it doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate it.

“Okay, I promise you, this place has the best hot chocolate in all of Illinois,” Harry says excitedly. They’re walking arm in arm in downtown Evanston, huddled together for warmth as they brave the cold. Ice-skating hadn’t lasted much longer, luckily for Zayn. This is much nicer.

They approach Coffee Lab; a place Zayn has passed a million and one times but never went in. He thought it was kind of pretentious. Harry opens the door for him, and he steps inside. He shivers at the contrast in temperature. Grateful for the sudden warmth that engulfs him. He looks around. It’s everything he expected. It’s purposely poorly lit, the decorative light fixtures doing nothing really. The smell of coffee immediately assaulted his senses. The decorations were abstract at best. At the counter, there are beakers lined in a row and what appeared to be coffee being strained into them. It was the kind of place that would be perfect for Instagram feeds.

“Grab us a seat, I’ll pay,” Harry says.

“Okay,” He agrees, turning on his heels. He scans Coffee Lab, weighing their options. There were tables where students sat busily typing away on their laptops. There were a few stools by the window facing out towards the snow-covered street. Zayn settles for the seemingly misplaced couch with the little table in front of it near a gas lit fireplace. He shrugs out of his coat, placing it on the arm of the sofa. Softly, Christmas music lulled throughout the coffee shop. He smiles to himself. That’s the weird thing about Christmas music. It makes you feel nostalgic for things that haven’t happened, for things yet to come.

“Okay, Zayn Malik,” He looks up at Harry as he comes around the couch and takes a seat next to him. He’s sitting facing him, with one leg propped underneath him. “I present you with the best hot chocolate in all of Illinois.”

Zayn takes the oversized mug from him. He couldn’t tell where the hot chocolate started and the whipped cream ended. “What makes it the best?”

Harry sits his mug on the table in front of them as he takes off his coat. “They take like an actual piece of chocolate, melt it down, and add it to hot, spiced, milk,” He says. “Go on then, try it.”

Zayn brings the mug up to his lips, his eyes flicking up to Harry’s, who is staring at him excitedly. He takes a sip, the scorching liquid burning the roof of his mouth. He immediately pulls the cup from his lips, frowning a little, but Harry’s right. It’s the best damn hot chocolate he’s ever had.

“Huh?” Harry smile widens.

“You’re right,”

Harry takes a sip. He’s completely unbothered. “I didn’t want to have to say I told you so, but I told so.”

“Yeah, yeah. You have a little something,” Zayn points at his own upper lip, but Harry definitely catches the hint.

He grabs a napkin and dabs around his mouth. “So, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you?” Harry clears his throat. And Zayn’s heart skips a beat. After months of spending time with Harry, he’s starting to pick up on little Harry quirks, like clearing his throat. It’s something he does whenever he has something to say, and he’s not sure how it’s going to be received. Zayn nods his head, encouraging him to go on.

“I was thinking that maybe you’d like to come home with me for Christmas, if you don’t have any plans that is,” He says.

Helplessly, Zayn smiles. He smiles so wide it actually kind of hurts. “Really? Like to meet your family?”

Harry smiles too, even blushing a little. “Yeah,” He shrugs. “I mean, I imagine that would be a part of it, yes. I know you don’t celebrate it, so if you don’t want to, I completely understand and respect your decision. I was just-”

“Harry!” Zayn cuts him off, laughing. “I’d love to go home with you for Christmas.”

“You would?”

“Yes. I would,” He smiles at him reassuringly.

“Okay,” Harry smile grows slowly wider, his dimples becoming more prominent. “Oh, and one more thing,” He turns and digs in the pocket of his coat. Zayn picks up his mug, actually taking another sip.

Harry turns around with a rather pathetic looking piece of mistletoe in his hands, holding it over their heads. Zayn lets out a laugh louder than he expects. A few heads in the coffee shop turn towards them, but he doesn’t care. “Where’d you even find that?”

“I took it off of the display when the barista turned around to make our drinks,” Harry laughs.

It makes Zayn laugh harder. “Fine, for your troubles,” He scoots closer to Harry on the couch, their legs touching. Zayn reaches forward, grabbing Harry by the sweater, and pulls him into a brief kiss.

“What do you think’ll happen if I took a bunch of these and put them on a bed? That should grant more than just a kiss, don’t you think?” Harry says slyly, his voice low enough just for Zayn to hear. He even laughs a little, clearly amused with himself.

 

***

Finals week.

Zayn always thought that by the time he got into his senior year that finals would be easier, somehow less stressful, but he’s wrong. Boy is he wrong.

He’s in Harry’s room, books and notes scattered everywhere between the two of them. The both of them high on caffeine. Only hours have passed, but Zayn feels like he’s been there for at least three days. Without having to say it, they decide to take a break.

Zayn is sitting on Harry’s bed, and Harry is sitting on the floor in between his legs. His steady fingers section the long, curly hair into a top and bottom half. He secures the bottom with the hair tie Harry provides him. He takes the top, sections it into even smaller parts, and begins weaving the hair into a French braid. It’s calming, really. He’s able to put his focus to something that’s practically mindless.

“What language are you singing in?” Harry asks.

He doesn’t even realize he’s singing. “Urdu.”

“It’s pretty. What does it mean?”

“Until the flower of this love has blossomed, this heart won’t be at peace. Give me your heart,” Zayn translates it to English. “My dad used to sing it for my mum all of the time when I was younger.”

Harry nods slowly. “Your family, what are they like?” He turns around and looks up at him.

Zayn Malik loves his family more than anyone or anything in the world. As he tells Harry, he gushes, laughing as his sisters pop into his head. He misses them, and the way the made him feel at home. He hasn’t seen them in person since he was eighteen years old. He’s only seen in pictures how his baby sisters were no longer babies.

Harry’s smiling fondly up at him. “Sounds like you had a lovely upbringing?”

Zayn shrugs. “In some ways, yeah?”

“What do you mean?” He furrows his eyebrows.

“It was kind of hard growing up, and being the only brown boy in a lot of your classes. You know what they say, kids are cruel. Shatters your confidence, a bit,” He chuckles a bit even though it isn’t funny. He doesn’t know why he’s telling Harry this. He has learned to live with it, deal with it because he has to. He wasn’t given much of a choice.

Harry rubs his knee comfortingly. “You’re so amazingly beautiful. Inside and out, you know that, right?”

“You sound like my mother,” Zayn laughs it off.

“Then she is a wise woman,” Harry says sincerely as he climbs into the bed next to Zayn.

“What about you, was everything peachy keen at the Styles house?” He diverts the attention from him. “Was little Harry angsty? Did they think the boys’ thing was a phase?”

Harry laughs, “No, they accepted the boy thing quite nicely. I think my problem growing up is that I’ve always felt a lot of pressure to be the best. It’s hard to explain, but it’s not like my family put pressure on me. They’ve never made me felt less than, but I’ve always felt like I could never measure up.” Zayn just listens as Harry goes on. “My mum is an art curator, Robin is an anesthesiologist, Gem’s got an internship working at some fashion law firm that she’s sure to get a job at, and my dad is even in politics back home in England. And here I am, the music major.”

“You’re a fit music major,” Zayn smiles, attempting to lighten the mood.

Harry laughs again, “Fine. Enough seriousness for the next eight years. We’ve got to get back to studying,”

Zayn groans in protest, but he scoots himself off the bed. He’s been rehearsing conducting. It’s the one test that’s stressing him out the most. He’s good, but he wants, he needs to be great. It was the one thing he wants to do for the rest of his life, and if he couldn’t perform his best at a college level, then what makes him think he’ll ever succeed as a professional.

He positions himself in front of the full-length mirror in Harry’s bedroom. “Can you start the music for me?” He asks.

“Okay,” He hears Harry behind him, who’s still propped up on his bed. He waits for Harry to press play as he brings his arms up into position. He takes a deep breath through his nostrils and then exhales. The music comes rushing out, but he’s prepared. It’s a song from a superhero movie, a tune he knows well. It’s fast, with twists and turns, and for him, it’s a lot of fun. His movements are quick, sharp, and harsh. His arms wave in wide motions, the sway of the song affecting him right down to his feet. He submerges himself into the instrumental; the only thing on his mind is to bring in the fictional orchestra in on the correct cue. Not a second too soon, not a second too late.

Harry claps when the song ends, causing Zayn to flash him an appreciative smile. “What is it that you like about conducting, anyway?” Slowly, the next song fades in. Zayn recognizes it as the Theme from Schindler’s List.

“Come here, I’ll show you,” He says. Harry smiles and slides off of the bed. He approaches Zayn, and Zayn positions them so that Harry is standing in front of him. They stare at each other’s reflection in the mirror. Zayn reaches around him, placing his hands on top of Harry’s. To match the music’s tempo, he slowly moves across the score. Lazily and powerfully. His movements are more elongated, so much so, it resembled a bit of a dance as they together brought in the piano and violins. Zayn feels Harry leaning into him slightly and he smiles.

“You hear that,” He whispers in Harry’s ear. “This is my favorite part. It’s called dissonance and consonance,” He explains. “Dissonance is meant to create this sort of tension in the chords, and the clashing of notes are meant to create this feeling of desire. And then there’s consonance that follows afterwards, where the chords resolve into something beautiful and pleasant, creating a sense of relief.”

Zayn’s eyes flick up to Harry, who’s staring at him in the mirror.

“So it’s like this,” Harry turns towards him. He leans in really close to Zayn, his mouth nearly touching his. “Dissonance. Tension. You’re so close you can almost taste it, you’re longing for it, right?” He raises a brow. He’s doing that thing with his voice, and Zayn’s heart is doing that thing in his chest. “And consonance. Relief. Like if I did this,” Harry’s mouth is on his.

“So we should really study in a public place from now on,” Zayn mutters against his lips, not objecting.

“Oh, for sure,” Harry mumbles in return as he continues to kiss him deeper, shoving his hand down the front of Zayn’s sweatpants.

***

Winnetka, Illinois is exactly what he imagined rich, white America to look like on Christmas Eve. He stays pressed to the window, the cold radiating off of it, as he stares at the rows and rows of near mansions, all decorated in uniformity. Even the snow falling from the sky seems to settle perfectly on the houses and manicured lawns. Harry’s driving, humming along to the festive songs playing on the radio, his fingers tapping along against the steering wheel.

He pulls up to one of the more modest homes on the street, but it’s still one of the nicest houses Zayn’s ever been to. What did he expect? From what Harry explained, his mum and stepdad are prominent people. It only made sense for them to live like prominent people. Zayn sighs, his breath fogging against the glass. Things like this have always made him feel insecure, and he really doesn’t want to feel that way around Harry’s family, but he can already feel it creeping in.

“Home sweet home,” Harry looks to him and smiles once the car is shut off. Zayn musters up a smile, but he notices a change in Harry. He seems nervous, like he’s trying to put on a brave face. And then Zayn remembers the talk they had, about the pressure Harry felt from them. He reaches out and touches Harry’s hand, trying his best to be reassuring, even though he wasn’t sure himself.

“Let’s go in, okay?” Zayn says softly. Harry leans over the car console and gives him a quick kiss.

“Okay,” He agrees.

They get out into the cold and collected their luggage before heading up to the front door. Fortunately, Harry has a key, so they don’t have to wait out in the snow longer than necessary.

Zayn steps into the house as Harry locks the door behind them. It’s even more gorgeous inside than it is on the outside. The ceilings are high and the dark, wooden floors shined as if they were freshly polished. He wasn’t sure if this had to do with Harry’s mom being an art curator, but for what he’s seen so far, it’s decorated beautifully with thought and attention to detail. It makes him feel small.

They walk deeper into the house together, leaving their suitcases at the foot of the stairs.

“This that my boy?” A woman says from nowhere in particular. Her voice is sweetly accented, and nothing like the stern tone Zayn imagined her to have. A dark haired woman emerges with a towel in her hands. She’s not nearly as scary looking as Zayn imagined. She looks like a mum, plain a simple. Her presence is warm and inviting. Her face lights up at the sight of her son, and she smiles even wider at the sight of Zayn.

“Rob, Haz brought someone with him,” She says in a singsong voice. She hugs Harry tightly.

Harry hugs are back, “Hello mum.” He appears to relax a little. Zayn stands to the side, allowing them to have their moment. Honestly, he doesn’t know what to do or say really in this situation, but it seems right.

“And who might this young man be?’ She asks, her green eyes drawn to Zayn as a portly man with glasses and a dark mustache appears in the room. Zayn grins sheepishly at them.

“Zayn, this is my mum, Anne, and stepfather, Robin. Mum and Robin, this is my boyfriend, Zayn,”

Zayn head shoots towards Harry. Boyfriend. That’s a first. And Harry says it so naturally, completely unfazed. He’s caught so off guard by it, he starts to blush. He is Harry’s boyfriend.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Robin grabs his attention. Zayn looks back at Harry’s parents. Robin has his hand outstretched, and Zayn shakes it.

“Nice to meet you too, sir,” He says, still shaken up Harry.

Anne pulls him into a hug. “Figured you were special. Harry never brings anyone home.”

“I’m glad I could change that,” Zayn says, unsure of what else to say, and they laugh.

“Harry, you know the rules,” Anne pulls away and gives her son a knowing look.

Harry gives an exaggerated sigh. “Still?”

“Still.”

“What’s the rule?” Zayn looks curiously between the two of them.

“Significant others get separate bedrooms. Only married couples get to share a bed in this house,” Anne and Harry say at the same time, Harry mocking her voice.

“She’s a bit old fashion when she wants to be,” Harry adds. “It’s not like he can get pregnant exactly.” He only laughs as Anne smacks his arm.

Zayn and Anne both scold him at the same time, to which he only laughs they way Harry does.

-

Zayn’s staring up at the ceiling, blinking, hoping for sleep. There’s no rhyme or reason. He just can’t sleep. It’s just barely Christmas morning, the clocking striking midnight about twenty-three minutes ago. He tries to make sense of where he is. Harry’s house, where Harry grew up. A Harry that Zayn never knew. He wonders what he was like when he first came to America. He’s here with Harry’s family, spending Christmas with them. They’re lovely. Harry called Zayn his boyfriend. They are boyfriends.

His phone vibrates against his bare torso, breaking his stream of consciousness. He picks it up, seeing it’s a text from Harry.

Harry: Are you still awake??  
Zayn: Yeah

He watches, waiting for Harry’s reply, but the three little dots disappear from the screen. With a sigh, he tosses the phone back onto the bed.

Just then, there’s a knock at the door. Before he could say come in, Harry’s barging in and climbing into bed with him. Zayn laughs, “What about your mum?”

“She’s asleep,” He shrugs.

Zayn rolls over, kissing him. “Aren’t you a bad boy?”

“Maybe you should punish me?” Harry smiles cheekily.

Zayn can’t help but to laugh. “Shut up,” He kisses Harry again briefly. “So, boyfriend, huh?”

“Is that okay?”

“It’s perfect,” Zayn smiles at him lovingly. It’s everything he has ever wanted.

-

The lights come on without warning, making Zayn wince. He blinks his eyes open, squinting and shielding them with his arm. Harry’s nestled into his side, so it’s definitely not him. Shit, is it Anne? His tired mind can’t tell.

“Wake up, sleepyhead! It’s Christmas!” The girl says, and Zayn immediately sits up. From the look on her face, she wasn’t expecting to see him. “Well, I’ll be damned,” She laughs.

“Go to hell, Gemma,” Harry groans, burying his face into the pillow.

Zayn recognizes the name. It must be Harry’s sister. “This must be the boyfriend. Good job, baby brother,” She nods towards him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Zayn.”

He nods, he’s in no shape for introductions. “You too, Gemma,” He says tiredly, his voice weighed down.

“Welp, you better hurry before mum comes up here and catch the two of you, and you don’t want to do that,” She says in a singsong voice before disappearing out of the doorframe. “See you downstairs in a few,” She calls out to them.

Sluggishly, they get out of bed. “What the hell just happened?” Zayn asks jokingly.

“Don’t ask,” Harry sighs.

-

They sit around the Christmas tree with Harry’s family, and Zayn has to admit that he’s enjoying himself. He sits back, a happy observer. He can feel the love radiating off of them, and they welcome him so kindly. Their laughter rings throughout the house, making the spirit of Christmas feel real for someone who never really got the opportunity to dwell in it.

“This is for you,” Zayn hands him an envelope. It isn’t much, but he hopes he likes it.

“Zayn, you didn’t have to,” Harry says as he opens it, respectfully reading the card first before opening it to see what’s inside. A smile appears on his face, growing impossibly wider. He looks up at Zayn, and Zayn lets out a sigh of relief.

“Is this what I think it is?” Harry asks, his voice creeping with excitement.

Zayn nods, sheepishly. “It’s tickets for a one night only production of Chicago’s Hamilton: An American Musical with the original New York cast, including Lin-Manuel Miranda reprising his role as Alexander Hamilton. I know how much you like the show.”

Without warning, Harry’s hugging Zayn tightly. “Thank you so much. I love it!”

Zayn rubs his back, laughing a little. “You’re welcome.”

Harry lets go of him and hands him a neatly wrapped box, “For you.” Carefully, he takes off the wrapping paper and opens it. There’s a suit inside, a very nice suit. Zayn laughs, thinking back to how disgusted Harry was when he found out Zayn didn’t own a suit. “Thank you,” Zayn smiles at Harry.

“Check the inside pocket,” He’s beaming.

Slightly confused, Zayn sticks his hand into the inside pocket like Harry instructs. He feels a glossy piece of paper. He pulls it out and looks at it. He gasps, eyes immediately welling up with tears as he looks up at Harry. It’s a plane ticket from Chicago to Bradford.

“For my Bradford badboy,” Harry says smiling. And Zayn cries, suddenly overcome with so many emotions at once. Harry hugs him rocking him slightly, “Merry Christmas, baby.” The only thing Zayn can think to do is apologize and continuously say thank you.

He’s going to get to see his family, and it’s all because of Harry. It’s a Christmas miracle.

 

January

 

10, 9, 8

Fireworks are erupting right outside of the window, illuminating the dark room and the near midnight sky.

7, 6, 5

Just downstairs, Zayn can hear their friends cheering, counting down the end of another year.

4, 3, 2, 1

“Happy New Years!” He makes out through the closed door and his clouded thoughts. Somewhere in the distance, there’s the toll of church bells ringing. He moans, his eyes forcing shut as he twists his head further into the pillow.

Harry thrusts become less and less frequent as he lifts his head out off the curve of Zayn’s neck. “Hear that?”

“Mhmm?” Zayn replies lazily. He opens his eyes and looks at Harry. He looks so beautiful. His hair is tousled slightly, a bruise forming on Harry’s neck. There’s a lopsided grin on his face, his eyes heavy and dark. The room is dark; sheets are covering their hips. Zayn’s legs wrapped around his waist.And there’s a romantic air about it. He reaches up, tucking Harry’s hair behind his ear, his hand lingering on the side of Harry’s face. 

Harry leans down, his mouth hovering over his, centimeters from touching. “Happy New Years,” He mumbles into Zayn’s mouth as he starts thrusting into him once more. 

 

February

 

It only took Zayn three months to fall in love, to find the one, to look at him, with all of his flaws and the things that makes him human, and know that, without a doubt, Harry is where he wants to spend the rest of his life. Because that’s how Zayn’s father always put it, and now Zayn knows he’s right.

Being with Harry is far different than how he imagined it for those three years. It’s real. It’s his reality. And sometimes, when he lies awake in bed with Harry sleeping by his side, he looks down and wonders how he got so lucky. He loves him. He really loves him. He feels it in his heart, in his bones, in his very being.

When he realizes, it’s not some grand occurrence. It was simple. Honestly, it crept up on him when he least expected it to. They’re sitting together at a restaurant that is now their go to. Zayn’s sitting across from Harry, who laughs so hard he snorts, and looks at Zayn wide eyed in shock, only making him laugh harder. It was then that the three words popped into Zayn’s head. I love you. Natural and simple. It weighs heavy on his tongue and even heavier on his heart. He decides to wait to say it. He wants the moment to be perfect.

***

Zayn can hear the audience applauding from backstage. He feels like he’s going to throw up.

“Hey, look at me,” Harry says, calling him back into focus. He reaches up and adjusts Zayn’s bowtie. “You’re going to be great, okay? You’ve worked so hard for this.”

Zayn nods. His tuxedo feels all wrong and unnatural. It’s the day of his conducting assessment. It’s a concert put on by the music department, where graduating seniors must showcase three pieces: two classical works or film scores, and an original piece. But it’s more than some orchestra concert. The university rents out Segerstrom Hall in Chicago, and afterwards, there’s a black tie gala in the ballroom at the Sofitel hotel. It’s everything he has worked towards since his freshman year.

“Breathe, okay?” Harry smiles at him. “I’m going to go take my seat,”

“Zayn Malik, you’re next,” The stage manager calls him.

“You’ve got this, babe,” Harry hugs him before pulling away.

Per usual, his mind is going a million miles a minute. If he screws this up, he’s over. He can kiss his future goodbye. But Harry’s here, smiling encouragingly, telling him that everything will be okay.

Zayn sighs, trying to trust Harry on this one, “I love you.”

As soon as the words falls from his lips they both freeze, staring at each other. He doesn’t mean to say it. Oh, but he definitely means it. For weeks, Zayn has been tossing the idea over and over in his mind, and not once did he think it would be like this.

“Don’t say anything!” Zayn adds quickly.

“Okay,” Harry laughs, throwing his hands up defensively. “Okay.”

Zayn turns around, groaning, he covers his face with his hands. Great. “Zayn, are you ready?” The stage manager, stressed and jacked up on coffee, asks him.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” If he felt sick before, he can barely breathe now.

He swallows hard, stepping out of the wing and onto the stage.

The lights blind him immediately. He resists the urge to squint or shield his eyes with his arm. The one perk is that he can’t really see the hundreds of people sitting in the audience, but he definitely feels their presence. He’s trembling. His heart nearly beating out of his chest. He clears his throat and swallows hard, “Good evening,” He starts just like he practiced. “My name is Zayn Malik, and I will be conducting The Secret Life of Daydreams from Pride and Prejudice, The Spider Room – Rumble in the Subway from The Amazing Spider Man, and an original piece entitled H. Thank you,” He turns his back to the audience and turns towards the orchestra, stepping up on his podium.

He picks up his baton and lets out a shaky sigh. He looks up at the orchestra in front of him and gives a gentle smile. They’ve all worked so hard on this, and now it was time to display their hard work. He lifts the baton up and the musicians in front of him raise their instruments.

Zayn begins. He soars through the first two songs no problem. They contrast each other nicely. The first one, like the time he played it for Harry on his violin back in September, is slow and beautiful, but it’s even more gorgeous with a full pit. The second is more action packed and fast and dramatic, a love letter to his love affair with superhero movies. Last, but definitely not least, his original piece, H. It’s all over the way in the best way possible. It starts slow and builds and builds and builds until it fades out beautifully at the end, the instruments clashing together in dissonance, only to shift seamlessly into consonance. He loves the piece, because he loves the person who inspired it.

Once he’s done, a round of applause erupts in the room. He sighs again, this time a sigh of relief, a smile settling on his face as he turns back towards the audience. He steps off of the podium and walks to the edge of the stage. He motions to the musicians in his orchestra, who are standing now to bow.

Hollering and whistling catches his attention. He looks back to the audience. His eyes are drawn to Harry being knowingly unorthodox. Zayn tries not to laugh as Harry continues, getting looks from the prudes around him. Liam, Louis, and Danielle, on the other hand are getting a kick out of it. Zayn gives a subtle nod, acknowledging him right before he bows. When he stands upright again, Harry’s eyes are on him.

“I love you too,” Harry mouths.

-

The gala is by far the nicest event that Zayn’s ever been to.

Everyone in sight dawned is tuxedos and some of the most beautiful gowns he’s ever seen. There’s a live band on stage, and a dj for when the band needed a break. The room itself was massive, exactly like ballrooms in wedding magazines. Nicely decorated, rows and rows of tables, extravagant centerpieces, a dance floor in the center, and so on. Once again, he gets to experience it with Harry.

They’re huddling around the bar, downing floats of champagne as people approach Zayn, congratulating him on his works. He thanks each and every one of them with a genuine smile. He has shaken more hands and gotten more pats on the back in a single night than he has in his entire life, and it feels great. It just might be the best night of his life. Coincidentally, it’s Valentine’s Day, and the boy he loves the most loves him in return. He didn’t shit on his future career. It’s a win-win.

The band taking the stage starts pumping out a slow song. Couples in the room start to flock to the dance floor, holding each other close as they say.

He reaches a hand out to Harry, “May I have this dance?” He asks.

Harry raises an eyebrow at him, a slight smile on his face. “You may, Mr. Malik,” He slides his hand into his, and Zayn pulls him towards the dance floor.

Zayn wraps his arms around Harry’s neck as Harry’s hands settled on his waist. They sway closely to the music. Harry simply stares at him, a fond expression settling over his feature.

“What?” He smiles, tilting his face up towards Harry’s.

“I’m so proud of you,” He says seriously, before pressing a kiss to Zayn’s lips. “I love you so much,”

Zayn pretends to shudder. “Say it again,”

It makes Harry laugh, and that’s all Zayn wants, is to hear him laugh and to be happy with him forever. “I’m in love with you, Zayn Malik.”

“And I’m in love with you, Harry Styles.” And he means it. 

 

March

 

March is simply so. They’re together, blissfully unaware of the world around them. They’re together, invincible. Them against the world. Whispering ‘I love you’s when they think no one is watching Young, foolish, and in love. It’s everything Zayn dreamed of, but better, because it’s their reality and he’s living it. The unrelenting love he has for music, he finally found it in the form of a person, and it’s unbelievable. 

He is certain now more than ever that he’s found the one, that there’s nothing that the two of them couldn’t conquer together.

And then Harry gets a call one day, and it changes everything.

 

April

 

It could all very well be in Zayn’s mind, but they’re drifting. He sees it, he feels it, and it’s driving him crazy. He also knows that it’s nothing, that this small shift in their relationship is necessary. Harry’s dreams are falling right into place, finally coming true. He finally got the big audition for a show on Broadway. And Zayn’s been nothing short of supportive, a cheerleader, Harry’s confidant, because that’s what a good boyfriend is supposed to be. All of those things and more. Right?

They’ve been together, non-stop, since November. Spending just about every day together, even holidays, and suddenly it comes to an end. Suddenly Harry’s too busy. Suddenly, Harry has to squeeze in one more hour of vocal lessons. Suddenly, Harry has to work 24/7 with his acting coach to make sure he chose the right monologue.

And then Zayn looks up one day, and Harry’s gone. He’s on a plane to New York, and Zayn’s just grateful that Harry chose him to spend his last night with in Evanston before a trial of auditions that could change Harry’s life forever.

And while Harry’s gone for those two weeks, they FaceTime every night. It’s the most Zayn has seen of him in weeks. Harry tells him all about his days and the auditions and the Big Apple, and watching him, Zayn remembers what it means to love Harry. Harry, who’s speaking with so much excitement and passion that his eyes sparkle. Harry, who is getting a taste of the life he’s always wanted and yet somehow still wants Zayn be a part of it. But is it enough? Zayn asks himself when he’s alone and lonely, cold in his bed without Harry by his side. Is it enough?

-

Before Harry left, he promised him, that no matter the outcome, the first place he’d go with the news is to Zayn’s apartment. And Harry’s flight landed in Chicago about an hour ago. He should be there any minute. Out of respect, Liam and Louis leave the apartment, but he really wishes he had them there to tell him that it’s going to be okay. But he’s alone, pacing, his mind off in a million different places. What if Harry didn’t get the role? How will he be? Will Zayn have to comfort him indefinitely, tell him that everything’ll be alright when he knows damn well that this is the one thing that Harry felt that he needed to prove to his family that he’s worth something. Or what if Harry did get the role? Could he handle months, maybe even years of what he felt in those two weeks? He doubts it. He’s Zayn Malik. Relationships are hard; he has always known that, just like he knows that people aren’t music. They can’t be perfected.

There’s a knock at his door and his heart stops.

There’s another knock and he shuffles over to the door, holding his breath as he opens it. And there he is. His beautiful boy with a beautiful smile, and Zayn’s heart sinks. But he’s smiling, helplessly, because he’s ever been more excited to see anyone in his entire life.

“Well, what’s the news?” He claps his hands together, rubbing them together. He has to muster up the happiness to prepare for whatever Harry throws his way.

“I’m pregnant!” He says jokingly.

“Harry,” It actually makes Zayn laugh, calming his nerves a bit. “Seriously, what is it?”

Zayn knows what it is before Harry even says it. He sees it in Harry’s demeanor. He sees it in the wide, dimple punctuated smile on his face. Harry is practically beaming. “I got the part! Not just any part, Zayn, I got the male lead.”

“Oh my god!” Hearing him say it is somehow different. He’s more excited than he imagined he’d be. He hugs him tight and gives him a brief kiss. God, it feels good to be able to do that. He pulls away, “When do you start?”

“In a week or so, I just…” Harry keeps talking, but Zayn can’t hear him. The smile he wore on his face falls. One week. Seven days. One hundred sixty eight hours. Ten thousand eighty minutes. Six hundred four thousand eight hundred seconds. That’s the time he has left with Harry before he’s gone again.

“I’m sorry, what?” Zayn cuts him off. “A week? That’s so…soon.”

Harry smiles, obviously confused as to why Zayn’s confused. “Yes, a week?”

Zayn shakes his head, “Well what about school? We don’t graduate for another month.” What about me? He thinks.

Harry ponders it for a second as if he didn’t even consider it. Something about it gets under Zayn’s skin. “Well, I guess I’ll have to dropout.” Simple as that.

“Dropout?! You can’t be serious.” He steps away from Harry. He’s pacing again.

“What’s the big deal?” Harry laughs. “Brad Pitt dropped out like two weeks before graduation to become an actor.”

“What’s the big deal?” He scoffs. “Harry, you’re not Brad fucking Pitt.”

The excitement that once infectiously spilled out of Harry is gone. “Why are you upset? You knew that there was a possibility that this could happen.”

“Because I didn’t think you could do it!” Zayn blurts out, yelling.

He can see the hurt hit Harry in waves. “Are you serious?” His voice is quiet. “So you’re telling me all of those times you told me that you believed in me were just lies?”

Zayn falls silent, his default.

“No, you don’t get to do that, Zayn. You fucking answer me.”

He shrugs defiantly. “I guess they were, because no, I actually didn’t think you’d get a role.” He says honestly, to himself and to Harry, for this first time.

Harry looks at him like he can’t recognize the person standing in front of him. “Fuck you, Zayn. Fuck. You. I come to you before anyone, before my own family, with the best news of my life, of my fucking dreams, and you pull this shit when you know good and well how important this is to me.” There are tears streaming down his face.

For the first time, he isn’t thinking. His mind isn’t racing. He just speaks without a second thought, without considering the consequences. Zayn rubs his face, running his hands through his hair before replying. He’s scared, and he did what people do best when they are scared, he jumps. “I can’t do this.”

“What?” It’s enough to stop Harry in his tracks. He just blinks at Zayn. “…What are you talking about, Zayn.”

“This, us, I can’t do it,” He repeats himself, quieter as he shakes his head.

“You’re breaking up with me?” Harry stares at him in disbelief.

“I guess I am,” Zayn says.

“So when things get hard, this is what you do? You ruin everything we have together?” Harry’s trembling and deep down inside, Zayn wants to comfort him, to hold on, and apologize a million times, but he can’t.

Zayn’s shutting down. “I guess it is.”

“Good to know,” Harry goes to leave, but he turns around as he reaches the door. “You know what hurts the most, Zayn? I love you so damn much, and I know you love me too.” His voice cracks a little. He looks at Zayn for a second, so much more he wants to say bubbling up within him, but instead Harry shakes his head and slams the door behind him as he goes. 

 

May

 

That’s the last time he sees Harry.

He hasn’t heard from him since that night. He hasn’t seen him. He doesn’t know when Harry packed up and moved to New York, but he knows that he’s gone. Really gone. Out of Evanston, Illinois, out of his life.

He realizes now how selfish he’d been, but it’s too late. He has to live with knowing that he broke the love of his life’s heart. And in the process, he broke his own.

When thinking how he’d end college, he never once thought it’d be like this. He simply exists now. He carries on, doing the bare minimum he needs to do to survive. Liam and Louis try to include him, to bring him back to life, but there’s only so much they can do. It’s supposed to be one of the happiest times of his life, and yet he can’t even function. Everything reminds him of Harry. The people passing by, the places he visit, the town itself. Everything screams of a memory he has with him.

And most days, Zayn isn’t sad. No, he’s pissed off at himself. If he just knew the right words to say, if he hadn’t been so stubborn, if he hadn’t been scared, he’d still have Harry, even if Harry is thousands of miles away. He knows now that it’s better than not having Harry at all.

***

It’s the last day of finals for the semester. For him, it’s the last semblance of his senior year in college.

He doesn’t know what he’s thinking as he finds his way into a bar in downtown Evanston. It’s crowded with seniors, all of whom are celebrating their one common achievement: surviving. 

He goes up to the bar, sitting on the stool.

The bartender smiles at him. She’s pretty. Young and blonde. Her nametag says Gigi. He wonders if that’s actually her real name. “I’ll be with you in a moment,” She says and Zayn nods.

He sits there, scrolling through his phone idly.

“If it innit a stranger,” He hears someone familiar and Irish to his left. He looks up to see Niall, sitting on the stool next to him with a pint in his hand. Now that he thinks about it, he can’t remember a time where he’s seen Niall without a drink in his hand.

“Niall,” Zayn smiles sort of, but it feels wrong.

“What’ve you been up to?”

Zayn shakes his head. Why would Harry’s best friend want to speak to him of all people. “Nothing much, I just- You don’t hate me?” Zayn asks, looking down at his twiddling thumbs.

“Nah, I don’t hate ya,” He takes a swig of his beer. “He doesn’t hate you either.” He says it as if it means nothing.

His head snaps up in Niall’s direction. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Harry, he doesn’t hate you, either. Still talks about you quite often. Don’t think he’s even thought about anyone since you,”

The news overwhelms Zayn, how? He isn’t sure. The feeling stirring up within him isn’t necessarily happy or sad. Relief that Harry doesn’t hate him? Maybe, but he can’t be entirely sure. “I’m sorry, Niall, I’ve got to go,”

-

He sits on his bed, staring at Harry’s name in his contacts. His fingers hover over the little phone icon. He can’t do it.

***  
Graduation goes by quicker than he imagined it would.

He FaceTimed his family earlier in the day. His mum cried. His father wore a proud smile the way that fathers did. His sisters all congratulated him.

He sits for an hour or so, waiting for his name to get called. He walks across the stage, shakes hands with the Dean, gets his diploma, and seals off this chapter in his life. Now he just has the rest of it to look forward to.

When it’s all over, he’s searching the lawn in the sea of purple caps and gowns in hopes of finding his friends. Lucky for him, they decided a designated meeting place. He spots them, all of them smiling and laughing, undoubtedly feeling the giddiness of graduation. Danielle, Louis, Liam, Sophia, Niall, Zayn. They’d all done it. And while it was a rare day, when Zayn’s genuinely happy, the thought of Harry still looms in the back of his mind. He’s supposed to be here graduating with us, but he’s not.

As he gets closer, he notices someone in a black suit standing amongst Zayn’s friends. The person has their back turned towards him, and the short, brunette hair isn’t doing much to give him any clues as to who the person might be.

Liam’s the first one to notice Zayn approaching, and his face immediately falls. Zayn frowns too. Did he do something and not know it? The others notice Liam’s face and their eyes fall to Zayn, who’s getting closer and closer. Danielle looks on the verge of panic. The person in the suit turns around, peeping to see what had them all so transfixed, and Zayn forgets how to breathe.

Harry’s smile falls upon seeing Zayn.

He looks so…different. The long curls that spilled down into his shoulders when it wasn’t in a bun are gone. It makes him look somehow younger, still handsome. His little ears are visible. Zayn can’t help but to stare.

It’s too late to turn around and run away. He’s too close to him. He has to take this one in stride.

“Hey, guys,” He smiles, or at least he tries.

Louis, being Louis, avoids tension at all cost. “About time you show up, Zed, you kept us waiting long enough.”

“Congrats, Zayn,” Harry says.

Zayn blinks up at him. He’s amazed that it’s really him. “Thank you, Harry. Your hair, it’s...”

“The role,” Harry nods smiling a little.

Zayn nods. “Right. How’s that going?”

Harry smiles wider. He was never one to hide his excitement. “It’s the best, we open from preview in a few weeks,”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Zayn says, and he means it.

-

They exist around each other for the rest of the day and into the night, and it is strange, to say the least. They attend the same farewell parties with their friends, all receiving the same looks when they appear together. But there are moments, when they do laugh and have a brief moment of conversation that feels like old times. And then, there’s nothing. Harry’s avoiding him at all cost, rightfully so. And Zayn’s avoiding eye contact.

But something even stranger happens.

Harry leaves the last party early. Zayn doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he hears, in passing, that Harry’s flight had landed that morning. It makes sense if he’s tired. Zayn just watches as he goes, catching what might be his last glimpse of Harry. As he exits out of the door, he peeps over his shoulder, catching Zayn’s eye, and just like that he’s gone.

Just like before, he has to figure out how to carry on. He feels his phone buzzing in his pocket. He digs around, retrieving it, nearly dropping it when his eyes fall onto the name on the screen. Dare he open it? He regards it more like an explosive rather than a text from his ex. What if he isn’t prepared to read what’s on the other side? He opens it anyway.

Harry: Meet me at the Waldorf Astoria hotel in an hour. Room 730.

 

-

Zayn’s always had a knack of being late. It’s a character flaw, but not this time.

He’s knocking on Harry’s door one hour exactly since receiving the text. He didn’t ask why? Doesn’t know the intent? He hopes they talk. He hopes that he can say everything he’s thought since the day Harry walked out of his life. He hopes that he can find the words to say everything he has felt, from regret right down to heartache and how he still loves him. He hopes he can say all of those things and more.

Harry opens the door. The first few buttons of his button down are undone. His hair is tousled in a way that it resembles bedhead, but it looks dangerously good. Zayn’s mouth suddenly feels dry. What is he doing here?

Harry doesn’t say a word. He only steps aside, clearing the path for him to enter into the hotel room. Zayn looks at the ground, watching his feet as he steps in. This is it. He hears the door close behind him.

“Harry, I-“ Zayn starts, but he’s interrupted. His back hits the wall. Hard.

“Don’t speak,” Harry says, his voice angry. His mouth is on Zayn’s, and he’s kissing him hard. He gasps involuntarily, his eyes wide. Harry kisses him harder, whining impatiently.

He snaps to his senses. His eyes flutter shut. His hands wrap around Harry as he kisses him back. Harry’s fingers are steadily undoing the buttons of his shirt, pushing it off Zayn’s shoulders in one swift motion. Everything’s happening so fast. They’re moving so fast. Things changed so fast. Zayn’s telling himself that this is wrong, they need to talk, but his body? God, he wants this. The inside of Harry’s mouth tastes like gin, and Zayn’s melting in it.

Harry dips his face into the curve of Zayn’s neck, biting and sucking roughly. At the same time, he’s grinding his hips forward into Zayn’s. He moans helplessly, his head falling back against the wall. This. It’s too much for him. Harry kisses his way back into Zayn’s mouth. Breathy sighs are passed between them as their tongues press against each other’s.

Zayn needs to know this is real, that this isn’t a dream. He quickly undoes Harry’s buttons, his fingernails digging into Harry’s back after he removes his shirt. He moans in Zayn’s mouth. This is definitely real. He can damn near cry.

He reaches down in between then and starts unbuckling Harry’s belt and fumbling with his zipper. He pushes pants and boxers down together. His hands are back up to the sides of Harry’s neck as Harry kicks his pants off. His fingers curiously feel at the nape of Harry’s neck that’s been exposed by the haircut.

“Bed. Now.” Harry says between kisses. “Fuck me.”

Zayn’s never been so hard in his entire life. He shudders at the command. Harry is tugging him to the bed by his belt buckle. And Zayn’s feet are shuffling along, trying to keep up. His body, his mind. Everything’s out of sync. It’s almost like his brain is lagging behind. When he tries one thing, Harry’s already twenty feet ahead of him.

Harry is on the edge of the bed, sitting on all fours. Zayn is standing up behind him, working eagerly to get his belt undone. He lets his slacks and boxers fall, pooling around his ankles. He doesn’t bother to take them off completely. Harry reaches him a condom. He takes it, hurriedly ripping it open and rolling it on.

Harry pushes his arse back into him. He’s ready, and so is Zayn.

He eases himself into him, and he knows right then and there he’s not going to last very long. His hands grip Harry’s waist as he thrusts into him. Deep down inside, he feels guilty. He doesn’t deserve this. But they way Harry feels around him, and the noises coming from Harry, he can’t be bothered with guilt. He’s selfish. He needs this. 

It’s quick. It’s fast. It’s dirty. It’s rough. Before long, Harry’s moaning Zayn’s name, coming into Zayn’s hand as he strokes him off. Zayn’s not too far behind him. His lips parted in pleasure, his head tilting as he comes. He slows his thrusts into an eventual halt. He stays inside of Harry momentarily. The sound of labored breathing feels the room.

And then he hears sniffling. Harry’s crying. Zayn opens his eyes and looks at Harry from behind. He watches as Harry undoubtedly wipes tears away, hoping that Zayn doesn’t see.

Quietly, Zayn pulls out of Harry. Taking off the condom, he pulls his boxers and pants up lazily around his waist before disappearing into the bathroom. Now what were they supposed to do? He tosses the condom into a trash bin. Zayn wipes his hand on a hotel towel and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He doesn’t recognize the monster looking back at him.

He reenters the room to see Harry lying on his back under the sheets, arms behind his head, staring blankly up at the ceiling. “Can you stay the night?” Harry’s voice is soft. He sniffles again. He doesn’t look at Zayn.

“Okay,” It’s the only thing Zayn can think to say. He crawls into bed beside Harry. They don’t touch. They don’t talk. They don’t look at each other. They’re just there, existing. Their minds off miles and miles away from that hotel room. Zayn doesn’t know how much time passes before Harry falls asleep. It could be minutes, it could be lifetimes.

He dares to look over at him, and his heart shatters. He always loved watching Harry sleep. He looks so soft, at peace. His pink lips slightly parted, his two front teeth showing. It’s a sight that used to make Zayn feel so at home. Now, it hurts.

He eases out of the bed, carefully, making sure not to wake Harry. He fastens the button on his pants and buckles his belt. He walks over and grabs his shirt before going into the bathroom again. He slips on the button down, slowing redoing each button. He looks up at himself again in the mirror, soothing out his hair.

“You are fucked up,” He says to his own reflection. He sighs and exits the bathroom to see Harry sitting up, staring blankly at him. Zayn stops in his tracks.

“Why is it so easy for you to leave me?” Harry asks.

It catches Zayn off guard. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

This is the talk he wanted, but it’s not how he worked it out in his mind. “I am, I really am, Harry.”

Harry shakes his head, chuckling slightly even though nothing is funny. “You know, I would have followed you to the ends of earth.”

“I wouldn’t want you to do that,” Zayn says evenly.

“It’s what I would have wanted, because I wanted you, I thought you’d at least want the same or want me.”

“You left me,” Zayn’s tone nears defensive.

“I left to follow my dreams, but you were the one, Zayn Malik, you were the one who ended things between us. That wasn’t me. Me moving to New York had nothing to do with that,” Harry’s tearing up again. Zayn can’t stand to see him cry.

“Why’d you invite me here?” Zayn asks, genuinely curious.

Harry shrugs. “Because you looked good, I miss you, I thought that maybe if I got some alone time with you, I’d forgot how-” He stops.

“How what,” Zayn presses him. He needs to hear him say it.

“How you broke my heart, but here we are...” Harry shrugs again. “You know what hurt the most, you didn’t even try fight for me. And the fucking sad part is, Zayn, I’d still come running back to you. If I looked out into the audience and saw your face, I would be fucking ecstatic.”

Again, Zayn is shutting down. The monologues of apologizes he has rehearsed time and time again are drawing blank in his mind. He resorts to silence.

“Of course,” Harry chuckles coldly. He sniffles and wipes his face. “I want you to leave, and I want to pretend like this night never happened”

Zayn nods. “Okay,” And with that he goes. 

 

June

 

He shouldn’t be here.

Zayn sees why Harry loves New York. It’s the very essence of him. It’s loud. It’s vivacious. It’s full of character, every which way, there’s something new and exciting. It’s everything he loves about Harry in the form of a city.

“You know, I shouldn’t be doing this, right?” Gemma says for the thousandth time as she shakes her head.

Zayn reached out to her, and after some choice, well deserved words, she agrees to help him. “I know,” Zayn says. Boy, does he know it.

The sound of the city drowns out the silence between them. Taxi horns blowing, distant sirens blaring, millions of voices talking at once. They’re standing in line, waiting to get to get into Harry’s show. It’s been a few weeks since opening, and there’s already Tony buzz circulating the musical. Just across the street is the Richard Rodgers Theater where Hamilton, Harry’s favorite musical, takes place every night. He wonders if he made friends with any of that cast yet. It’s everything Harry has ever dreamed of and more.

“I mean it, Zayn, if you hurt him again, I’ll kill you,” She randomly blurts out. She’s just as nervous about this as he is. Neither of them told Harry that Zayn’s here, in the city. It’s not like Zayn and Harry left off on the best of terms, but something Harry said that night stuck with him. “If I looked out into the audience and saw your face, I would be fucking ecstatic,” He’d told Zayn. If Zayn is going to try to fix this, he has to start somewhere.

“I know, Gemma,” He says, laughing a little.

“Good,” She cracks a smile.

They shuffle along in the line, getting closer and closer until the ushers scan their tickets and allow them into the theater. Zayn starts to feel anxious. This could go either way. What if Harry didn’t mean what he said? What if he said it in the heat of the moment? Either Harry would be happy to see Zayn, or he’d hate Zayn more than he probably already does. But again, he’ll never know unless he tries.

They take their seats near the front of center stage. The theater fills up as the start of the musical draws nearer. His legs fidget nervously in his seat. He turns his head every which way, looking around, searching for a distraction.

Gemma gently reaches out, touching his leg. “Relax,” She says, smiling. He nods.

The lights dim and the orchestra comes alive, playing out an overture before the curtains open. Harry’s on the stage and Zayn thinks his heart is going to beat out of his chest. This is it.

Act one, intermission, and act two breezes by. And the entire time, Zayn’s completely in awe. Harry’s a natural up there. In the two-hour time of the show, Zayn has felt every emotion, from laughing and crying, to laughing until he cried. Every aspect of it is phenomenal and Harry gets to get a part of it.

Harry’s character sings out the final tune of the show, something sad that definitely pulls at the heartstrings. The curtains close as the orchestra stops and Harry’s voice carries out a ghostly note. The audience erupts into applause with Zayn and Gemma included. The curtains reopen to an empty stage. One by one, members of the cast run out from the stage wings, taking their moment to shine as they bow or curtsy. Finally, Harry and his female lead run out together hand in hand. She curtsies as Harry presents her to the crowd before he takes a bow himself. There’s a wide, dimpling smile on his face. It kills Zayn. The cast comes together as one, taking each other’s hands as they bow again.

It was now or never. Zayn decides to take a page out Harry’s book and try the unorthodox.

Zayn shoots out of his chair, clapping wildly. He hoops and hollers, not caring who looked on in disgust. He puts his fingers up to his mouth whistling loudly. Whatever it takes to get Harry’s attention. He sees Harry laugh, scanning the crowd to find his fan. And he finds him. Their eyes meet, and Zayn’s heart bursts. The smile on Harry’s face falls slightly. Shock written evidently across his expression.

Tears sting Zayn’s eyes. “I love you,” He mouths.

Harry’s brows bunch up at the center. When he blinks, tears come streaming down Harry’s face. He swallows hard, Zayn can tell from the way Harry’s Adam’s apple bobs.

Harry nods. “I love you too,” He mouths, clearly overcome with emotions.

The curtains close, and it is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for sticking around until the end! I hope you liked it!!


End file.
